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®!^iilii::illiilliS^ 









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of Olol^rtJug^, Poif 

and EoaSPttt 

Containing only those 
poems which time 
has proven 
immortal 



of 

Containing only those 

poe??ts which tiine 

has pr^oven 

i^nmortal 



;V»Te?'V^ 




NEW YORK : THE CLOVER PRESS, INC. 

N in e te en- H n n dre d -and' Ten 



©CI.A2?::5^;; 



®o iMg Iflnuf^ Parents 



Page 
One 



m 

v. 
, — these ■ three of tfife^ immortals 

are linked/to all trW, l&vers of tHe beautiful, the mystical 
and the.^-hythmical : as expressed in the divineL language 
of ver^e. // 

Sufficient time has Separated us frt^^the adven| of 
Christabel, Annabel Lee,-md The Blessed Damozel, to 
obliterate all that is personal :and earthy from the ma^s of 
companion verse. For in a l^fe-time the fancies of joui\\ 
and tile maturer thoughts of later years — when inscribed- 
may be large in vqlume, but to no man is it given that 
all his act^ shall b^reat, ^nnoblhag or enduring. 

In comrnuning >/^ith these rare musicians, it would seem 
as though they had played upon the sanie instrument; for 
a reader of one s6on becomes absorbed ^n a second, and 
inevitably an ardent worshipper at the shrines of all three. 

So it is that the following pages contain all that grips 
the heart, and haunts the memory of the worshipper of 
to-day,— as distinct from that one of yester-year,— (who 
could not dis-associate the song from the singer), and 
lifts us from the "throng to peace remote in sunny 
silences." 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Preface 1 

PART I. 

IntrodxTction to Samub|:- Taylor Coleridge. - • 5 

KuBi^k Khan • • • • 7 

CRIStTABEL 10 

SONG|S OF THE PiXIBS 36 

HY]vm ^Before Sunrise, infhe 'vale of Chamouni) 41 

Lewti 45 

Ode to Sara 48 

The Rose 52 

The Rimb of thb, Ancient Mariner • 53 ^^ 

Selections : 

Reflections 78 

The Pains of Sleep 80 

Religious Musings 80 

Lines Written in Early Youth 81 

The Kiss 82 

Lines on a Friend . . • • 82 

Youth and Age 83 

To C. J.loyd 84 



PART II. 

PAGE 

Introduction to Edgar Allan Poe 85 

To Helen 87 

A Dream Within a Dream 88 

Lenore 89 

The City in the §ea . • ■ . 91 

/Annabel Lee^ 93 

Israfel 95 

The Haunted Palace 97 

Evening Star 99 

EuiyALIE 100 

The Sleeper 

To -^ . 103 

The ^fkLLEY OF /Unrest. • • 104 

The Conqueror Worm • ■ 105 

Dream-Land • 107 

Selections from Al Aaraaf . ■ 109 

Spirits of the Dead • . • • 112 

The Bells 113 

Bridal Ballad 117 

For Annie ■ 118 

To One in Paradise 122 

Ulalume 123 

To Science {A Prologue to Al Aaraaf) • 126 



PAGE . 

Eldorado 12^ 

The Raven ;••■*» 128 

Selection from Tamerlane 134 

PART III. 

Introduction to Dante Gabrikl Rossktti 135 

Sudden Light 137 

The Blessed Damozel 138 

True Woman (The Bmse of Life) 143 

John op. Tours • • • 144 

Parted Presence • 145 

Youth's Antiphony (Th^ Hou^ of Life) 147 

The Staff and Scrip 148 

The Ballad of Dead Ladies {TranslatiofLfrom 

Francois Villon) • 155 

The Song of the B6wer • 156 

Even So ■ - • • ■ 158 

The White Ship • 159 

The King's Tragedy 170 

The One Hope {The House of Life) 202 

Nuptial Sleep (The House of Life) 203 



PART I. 



Pate 
Five 



Bmmti ©aglor CnUrthg? 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE was born at the Vicarage 
of Ottery St. Mary, in Devonshire, on the 21st of October, 
1772. His father was the Rev. John Coleridge, Vicar of 
the Parish, and Master of its Grammar School. His mother 
was the Vicar's second wife, and Samuel Taylor was the ninth 
son by the second wife. Coleridge's parents died within a short 
time of one another when he was nine years old. Our knowledge 
of Coleridge's childhood is derived entirely from his letters to 
Poole in 1797. He describes himself as a precocious and imagina- 
tive child, never mixing with other boys. As a scholar, Coleridge's 
talents proved as great as his genius, and in spite of his persistant 
waywardness he always took the best honors the school afforded. 
"'At twenty- five he had already defined for himself his 
peculiar line of intellectual activity,* Walter Pater writes. Madam 
de Stael observed of him : /that he had an odd, attractive gift 
of monologue ;* and another says, *His voice rose like a stream 
of rich, distilled perfume. ' '* 

"In 1795, Coleridge married Sarah Fricker, and settled at 
Clevedon. With these responsibilities and interests, the earnest 
endeavors of his pen scarcely relieved their financial troubles 
beyond eking out a ^ere subsistence. The following year he 
published the first volume of his earlier poepis, and in 1797 
appeared a second edit^Onr. This year produced the works by 
which he will be longest arid" always remembered. It was in 
November, 1797, that Coleridge and' Wordsworth planned a joint 
composition, but the attempt failed, and Coleridge took the matter 
into his own hands. The magnificent result was 'The Anaent 
Mariner: It was not completed then, btit 'grew and grew' (says 
Wordsworth) until March of the following year. 

"Of Cmstahel, which Coleridge says was begun in Stowy. 
in 1797, there is no contemporary record; though it was published 
in 1816, with its attendant, Kuhla Khan and The Pains of SUep ; 
and while the pamphlet met with large sale, and went into a 



Page 
Six 

second edition almost at once, its receptioii by the critics was 
disappointing, Kubla Khan had been the costly, but delightful 
result of Coleridge's retirement to Porlock in 1798. In 1800 
'Lyrical Ballads and a Few Other Poems' was published, but 
without success. 

"Prose writings on philosophy, politics and religion filled the 
last migration of the poet's life. "And so glided away the length- 
ening twilight of his days, — yet not without active, intellectual life 
at the centre" — writes W._M. Rqssetti — "and after four years of 
confinement to a sick-r«f6m tlTe end caine. on the 25th of July, 1834." 

Mr. Swinburn h^i expressed his enthusiasm, in the following 
truth about Coleridgpp — "As a poet, his place i§ indisputable, it is 
high amon^ .the., hignest at all time: That may %^ said of this 
one which/can hardly b^aid of afty fcut the greatest!among men, — 
that, com^ what may t«i the^>world ih the couifse of tji^tlte, it will never 
see his v^lace filled* Tke htf^hest lyrical work ^ ,,eittleF'"p^ssionate 
or iafaginative. , Olf plk^siqn Coleridge's ha<! *iothing ; W|t, for 
heigMt and perfection ofymJii^inative quftlityj"' he is the ^eatest 
of Itric poets. This was Wvs|^eci£il^'powef,' and this is his ^special 

praik" k'-""'" - ] 

*fNo one who is at ally^ualified to entertain or expfess an 

opinibn on the subject c^ .-be insensible to the exquisite beauties 
of sif^h a composition as Fott//t 'Q«rf Age'* And, "Any oifie who 
doubts\the significance of Christa^et'^n plead that it ;fs but a 
fragments: but any sjKlch doubt is unfak^'^ Argues WilliaiM Rossetti. 
Walter, JPater cleverly concludes : "Frdfti his childhood he hun- 
gered for eternity." 'There, after all, is the incontestable claim of 
Coleridge, — the perfect flower of any elementary type of life must 
always be precious to humanity, and Coleri(fee is a true flower 
of the ennuye, of the type, of Refte, — and may still be ranked 
among the interpreters of one '«i|^ the constituent elements of our 
life.'" 



The above fragments have been gathered from: James D. 
Campbell's Biographical Introduction, W. M. Rossetti's Biogra- 
phical Sketch, and Walter Pater's Essay on Style. 



Poetical Worlds of page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Seven 



In the Bummer of the year 1797, the Author, then in ill health, had retired 
to a lonely farm house between Porlock and Linton, on the Exmoor confineg 
of Somerset and Devonshire. In consequence of a slight indisposition, an 
anodyne had been prescribed, from the effect of which he fell asleep in hit 
chair at the moment that he was reading the following sentence, or words of 
the same substance, in 'Purchas's Pilgrimage:' 'Here the Khan Kubla com- 
manded a palace to be built, ancL.» stately garden thereunto: and thus ten mile* 
of fertile ground were inclo^pd with a wall.' The author continued for about 
three hours in a profound fleep, at least of the external senses, during which 
time he has the most vivi4 confidence, that he could not have composed less 
than from two to tbree hundred lines; if that indeed can be galled composition 
in which all th<'imag^Svrose up before him as things, with a "parallel produc- 
tion of the correspondent .expressions, without any sensation or consciousness 
of effort. 0;rt awaking he a|>pea*cd to himself to have a distilict recollection 
of the whokf, and taking his ij>en, ink, and paper, instantly «nd eagerly wrote 
down thiriines that are here preserved. At this moment he was unfortunately 
called oiut by a person on business'vfrom Porlock, and. detained by him above 
an houf , and on his return to tl^e room, found, to his no small surprise and 
mortifidation, that though he still Vetamed some va#ue and dim recollection of 
the general purport of the vision, yet, with the exception of some eight pr ten 
scattered lines and images, all the rest had passed away like the imagJes on 
the surlface of a stream into which, a ftone had been cast, but alas I without 
the after restoration of the Ij^ttbr*' '< 

Then, all the charm 
Is broken— all that phantom-world so fair, 
Vanislvcs,' and a thousand circlets spread, 
'And each misshape the other. Stay awhile, 
Poor yi^uthi who scarcely dar'st lift up thine eyes — 
The sti'pm will soon renew its smoothness, soon 
The visions will return! And lo! he stays. 
And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms 
Come trembling back, unite, and now once more 
The pool becomes a mirror. 

Yet from the still surviving recollections in his mind, the Author has frequently 
purposed to finish for himself what had been originally, as it were, given to 
him. AuptOV aStOV OCdd) : but the to-morrow is yet to come. 

A5 a contrast to this vision, I have annexed a fragment of a very different 
character, describing with equal fidelity the dream of pain and disease.— 1816. 



Page Poetical IVorlf* of 

Eight SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 
A stately pleasure-dome decree: 
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran 
Through caverns measureless to man 

Down to a sunless sea. 
So twice five miles of fertile ground 
With walls and towers were girdled round: 
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, 
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; 
And there were forests ancient as the hills, 
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. 

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted 

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! 

A savage place ! as holy and enchanted 

As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted 

$y woman wailing for her demon-lover! 

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil 

seething, 
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, 
A mighty fountain momently was forced: 
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst 
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, 
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail: 
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever 
It flung up momently the sacred river. 
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion 
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, 
Then reached the caverns measureless to man. 
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean: 
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far 
Ancestral voices prophesying war! 



Poetical Wor^s of Page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Nint 

The shadow of the dome of pleasure 

Floated midway on the waves; 

Where was heard the mingled measure 

From the fountain and the caves. 
It was a miracle of rare device, 
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! 

A damsel with a dulcimer 

In a vision once I saw: 

It was an Abyssinian maid, 

And on her dulcimer she played, 

Singing of Mount Abora. 

Could I revive within me 

Her symphony and song, 

To such a deep delight 'twould win me, 
That with music loud and long, 
t would build that dome in air. 
That sunny dome! those caves of ice! 

And all who heard should see them there, 
And all should cry, Beware! Beware! 
His flashing eyes, his floating hair! 
Weave a circle round him thrice. 
And close your eyes with holy dread, 
For he on honey-dew hath fed. 
And drunk the milk of Paradise. 



Page Poetical IVorlgs of 

Ten SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 



The first part of the following poem was written in the year one thou- 
sand seven hundred and ninety-seven, at Stowey, in the county of Somerset 
The second part, after my return from Germany, in the year one thousand 
eight hundred, at Keswick, CumTfcrhrtl37''"^'Sl^nce the latter date, my poetic 
powers hare been, till very lately, in a state of stjapendcd animation. But at, 
in my very first conception of the tale, I had the wli6i^e present to my mind, 
with the wholeness no less than with the loveliness, of ^ vision; I trust that 
I shall yet be able to^ embody in verse the three parts yefMo come. 

It is probatle, that H the j)oem had been finished at either of the former 
periods, or ,if even the first andv.second part "had been finished In the year 1800, 
the impres^on of its origiriklity Vould have been much greater than I dare at 
present.:i^pect. But for thijf, I nave only my own indorrencc to' U^me. The 
dates //kre mentioned for the eJifclusive purpose of pi^cluding cli%rges of 
plagriafism or servile imitation '^rom. myself. For, there is among us a set of 
criticJL who seem to hold that r-—" — •''- *^.ought'and image is traditional; 
who nave no notion that there ;s fountains in the worki, small 

as wdl as great; and who wo ; haritably derive every rill they 

behol4 flowing, for * perforation Bjade in some other man's tank. I hm con- 
fident however, that as far v ' tJft present poem is concerned, the Celebrated 
poets ^whose writings I might be suspected of having imitated, tither in 
particuikf passages, or in the tone and the' spirit of the whole, would be among 
the first \.o vindicate me from the chargtj an^i who, on any striking coinci- 
dence, wotiid permit me to address them in this doggerel ver^on of two 
monkish Latin, hexameters: 

'Tis mine and it is likewise yuis. 
But an if this will not do, 
llet it be mine, good friend! for I 
Am thfe poorer of the two. 

I have only to add, that the metre of the Chrisubel i» not, properly 
speaking, irregular, though it may seem so from its being founded on a new 
principle: namely, that of counting in each line the accents, not the syllables. 
Though the latter may vary from seven to twelve, yet in each line the accent* 
will be found to be only four. Nevertheless, this occasional variation in 
number of syllables is not introduced wantonly, or for the mere ends of coa- 
venience, but in correspondence with some transition in the nature of the 
imagery or passion. 



Poetical Works of Page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Eleven 

Part the First. 

'Tis the middle of the night by the castle clock, 
And the owls have awakened the crowing cock! 

Tu — whit ! Tu whoo ! 

And hark, again! the crowing cock, 
How drowsily it crew. 

Sir Leoline, the Baron rich, 

Ha^h a toothless mastiff,, which 

Fjpm her keimfe} beneath the rock / 

Maketh answer to the clock, - 

Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour; 

; Ever and aye, by shine and Sliower, 
Sixteen short howls, not over loud ; 

. Some say, she sees ini^ lady's shroud. 

Is the night chilly and dark? 
The night is chilly, but no$ dark. 
'I'^ie thin grey cloud is spread on high. 
It covers but not hides the sky. 
The moon (is behind, and at the full; 
And yet she looks both small and dull. 
The night is chill, the cloud is grey: 
'Tis a month before the month of May, 
And the spring comes slowly up this way. 

The lovely lady, Christabel, 

Whom her father loves so well, 

What makes her in the wood so late 

A furlong from the castle gate? 

She had dreams all yesternight 

Of her own betrothed knight; 

And she in the midnight wood will pray 

For the weal of her lover that's far away. 



Page Poetical Works of 

Twelve "SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERJDCE 

She stole along, she nothing spoke, 

The sighs she heaved were soft and low, 

And naught was green upon the oak. 

But moss and rarest mistletoe: 

She kneels beneath the huge oak tree. 

And in silence prayeth she. 

The lady sprang up suddenly, 

The lovely lady, Christabel! 

It moaned as near, as near can be, 

But what it ,,is,^she cannot tell. — 

On the other side it seemed to be 

Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree. 

The night is chill; the forest bare; 

Is it the wind that moaneth bleak? 

There is not wind enough in the air 

To move away the ringlet curl 

From the lovely lady's cheek — 

There is not wind enough to twirl 

The one red leaf, the last of its clan. 

That dances as often as dance it can, 

Hanging so light, and hanging so high, 

On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky. 

Hush, beating heart of Christabel! 
Jesu, Maria, shield her well! 
She folded her arms beneath her cloak. 
And stole to the other side of the oak. 
What sees she there? 



Poetical Works of P<^9* 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Thirtetn 

There she sees a damsel bright, 

Drest in a silken robe of white, 

That shadowy in the moonlight shone: 

The neck that made that white robe wan, 

Her stately neck, and arms were bare; 

Her blue-veined feet unsandaled were; 

And wildly glittered here and there 

The gems entangled in her hair. 

I guess, *twas frightful there to see — 

A lady so richly clad as she — 

Beautiful exceedingly! 

Mary, mother, save... me now! 

(Said Christabel), And who art thou? 

The lady strange made answer meet, 
And her voice was faint and sweet: — 
Have pity on my sore distress, 
I scarce can ipeak for weariness: 
Stretch forth thy hand, and have no fear, 
Said Christabel, How camest thou here? 
And the lady, whose voice was faint and sweet, 
Did thus pursue., her answer meet: — 

My sire is of a noble line. 

And my name is Geraldine: 

Five warriors seized me yester-mom, 

Me, even me, a maid forlorn: 

They choked my cries with force and fright, 

And tied me on a palfrey white. 

The palfrey was as fleet as wind. 

And they rode furiously behind. 



Page Poetical Work* of 

Fourteen SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

They spurred amain, their steeds were white; 

And once we crossed the shade of night. 

As sure as Heaven shall rescue me, 

I have no thought what men they be; 

Nor do I know how lojig it is 

(For I have lain entranced I wis) 

Since one^ the tallest of the five, 

Took iiie from the palfrey's back, ^ 

A weary\wohjan, scarce alive. | 

^J^ome muttiared words his comrader spoke ; 
-' He placed nte underneath this oalsj" 
/ He swore they would return with haste ; \ 
i Whither they Went I cliiTpot tell— ■ 

^ I thought I heard, some minutes past. 

Sounds as of a castle bell, 

Stretch forth thy hand (thus ended she), 
v And help a wretched maid to flee. 

Then Chtistabel stretched forth her hand. 

And comforted fair Geraldine: 

O well bright dame ! may you command 

The service of Sir Leoline; 

And gladly our st;out chivalry 

Will he send forth and friends withal 

To guide and guard you safe and free 

Home to your noble father's hall. 



Poetical Works of page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Fifteen 

She rose: and forth with steps they passed 

That strove to be, and were not, fast. 

Her gracious STARS the lady blest, 

And thus spake on sweet Christabel; 

All our household are at rest, 

The hall as silent as the ceU, 

Sir Leoline is weak in health 

And may not well awakened be, 

But We wiil^moYe as if in stealth : 

Andf I besee^l;^ y^siur courtesy 

This night, to $har^ your couch witlvme*. 



< 



\ 



\ 



:They crossed the mbat, and Qhristibel 

[Took the key that'^fitted welU' " 

jA little door she open^ straight, 

I All in the middle of the gate; / 

'The gate that w^s ironed within and without, 

Where an arnfiy in battle array had marched out; 

The lady ssj^k, belike through pain. 

And Christabel with might and^main 

Lifted her up, a weary weight, ^ ^-^ 

Over the thi-eshold of the gate: 

Then the lady rose again. 

And moved, as she were not in pain. 

So free from danger, free from fear, 

They crossed the court: right glad they were. 

And Christabel devoutly cried 

To the lady by her side. 

Praise we the Virgin all divine 

Who has rescued thee from thy distress! 



Page Poetical Works of 

Sixteen SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

Alas, alas! said Geraldine, 

I cannot speak for weariness. 

So free from danger, free from fear, 

They crossed the court: right glad they were. 

Outside her kennel, the mastiff old 
Lay fast asleep, in moonshine cold. 
The mastiff old did not, awake, 
Yet she an angry moan did make! 
And what can ^il the mastiff bitch? 
Never till n6w she uttered yell 
Beneath the eye of Christabel. 
f Perhaps it is the owlet's scritch: 
For what can ail 4ie Mastiff bitch? 

They passed the hall, that echoes still, 

Pass as lightly as you will! 

The brands were flat, the brands were dying. 

Amid their own white ashes lying; 

But when the lady passed, there came 

A tongue of light, a fit of flame; 

And Christabel saw the lady's eye, 

And nothing else saw she thereby 

Save the boss of the shield of Sir Leoline tall. 

Which hung in a murky old niche in the wall. 

O softly tread, said Christabel, 

My father seldom sleepeth well. 



Poetical Wor^s of Pm%e 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Seventeen 

Sweet Christabel her feet doth bare, 
And jealous of the listening air 
They steal their way from stair to stair, 
Now in glimmer, now in gloom. 
And now they pass the Baron's room. 
As still as death, with stifled breath! 
And now have reached her chamber door; 
And now doth Geraldine press down 
The rushes of the chamber floor. 

The moon shines dim in the open air, 
And not a moonbeam enters there. 
But they without its light can see 
The chamber carved so curiously. 
Carved with figures strange and sweet, 
All made out of the carver's brain. 
For a lady's chamber meet: 
The lamp with twofold silver chain 
Is fastened to an angel's feet. 

The silver lamp burns dead and dim; 

But Christabel the lamp will trim. 

She trimmed the lamp, and made it bright, 

And left it swinging to and fro, 

While Geraldine in wretched plight. 

Sank down upon the jBoor below. 

weary lady, Geraldine, 

1 pray you, drink this cordial wine! 
It is a wine of virtuous powers; 
My mother made it of wild flowers. 



I would, s4id Geraldine, ^ she wei'e 



Page Poetical Works of 

Eighteen SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

And will your mother pity me, 
Who am a maiden most forlorn? 
Christabel answered — ^Woe is me I 
She died the hour that I was born. 
I have heard the gray-haired friar tell, 
How on her death-bed she did say, 
That she should hear the castle bell 
Strike twelve, upoa.mjr-wedding day. 
O mother d^ar ! that thou were here ! 
ine,^she wei^ftu 

But soon vnth altered voice, said she-^ 

'Off, wandering mother! Peak and pine! 
^Jl have power* to bid thee flee.' 

Alas! what ails poor Geraldine? 

Why stares she with unsettled eye? 
V Can she the bodiless dedd espy? 
'' And why with hollow voice cries she, 

'Off, woman, ofiF! this^ hour is mine — 

Though thou her guardian spirit be, 

Off, woman,'off ! *tts given to me.* 

Then Christabel knelt by the lady's side, 
And raised to heaven her eyes so blue — 
Alas! said she, this ghastly ride — 
Dear lady! it hath wildered you! 
The lady wiped her moist cold brow. 
And faintly said, ' 'tis over now !' 



Poetical Worlds of p^g^ 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Nmtteen 

Again the wild-flower wine she drank! 
Her fair large eyes *gan glitter bright, 
And from the floor whereon she sank, 
The lofty lady stood upright ; 
She was most beautiful to see, 
Like a lady of a far countree. 
And thus the lofty lady spake — 
All they who live in the upper sky, 
Do love you, holy Christabel! 
And you lovefthem, and for their sake 
And for the good which me befell, 
Even I in my degree will try, 
Fai^ maiden, td rec^uite you well. 
Btit now unrobd yourself ; for I 
Must pray, ere yet in bed I lie. 

"Quoth Christabel, so let it be J 
And as the lady bade, did she. 
Her gentle limbs did she undress. 
And lay down in her loveliness. 

But through her brain of weal and woe 
So many thoughts moved to and fro. 
That vain it were her lids to close; 
So half-way from the bed she rose^ 
And on her elbow did recline 
To look at the lady Geraldine. 



Page Poetical Works of 

Twenty SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

Beneath the lamp the lady bowed, 
And slowly rolled her eyes around; 
Then drawing in her breath aloud, 
Like one that shuddered, she unbound 
The cincture from beneath her breast: 
Her silken robe, and inner vest, 
Dropt to her feet, and full in view, 
Behold! her bosom and half her side — 
A sight to dream of, not to tell ! 
O shield her! shield sweet Christabel! 

Yet Geraldine nor speaks nor stirs: 
Ah! what a stricken look was hers! 
Deep from within she seems half-way 
To lift some weight with sick assay. 
And eyes the maid and seeks delay; 
Then suddenly, as one defied. 
Collects herself in scorn and pride, 
And lay down by the Maiden's side! — 
And in her arms the maid she took. 

Ah, wel-a-day! 
And with low voice and doleful look 
These words did say: 

In the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell. 
Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel! 



Poelical IVor^s of p^g^ 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Tvenly-one 

Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow 
This mark of my shame, this seal of my sorrow; 

But vainly thou warrest. 
For this is alone in 
Thy power to declare. 

That in the dim forest 
Thou heardest a low moaning, 

And found'st a bright lady, surpassingly fair : 
And didst bring her home with thee in love and in 
charity, 

To shield her and shelter her from the damp air. 



THE CONCLUSION TO PART THE FIRST. 

It was a lovely sight to ^ee 
The lady Christabel, when she 
Was praying at the old oak tree 

Amid the jagged shadows 
V Of mossy leafless boughs, 

Kneeling in the moonlight, 

Td make her gentle vows; 
Her slender palms together prest. 
Heaving sometimes on her breast; 
Her face resigned to bliss or bale — 
Her face, oh call it fair not pale. 
And both blue eyes more bright than clear. 
Each about to have a tear. 



(3) 



Pagt Poetical Work* of 

T9tnirti»o SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDCB 

With open eyes (ah woe is me!) 
Asleep, and dreaming fearfully, 
Fearfully dreaming, yet I wis, 
Dreaming that alone, which is — 
O sorrow and shame! Can this be she, 
The lady who knelt at the old oak tree? 
And lo ! the worker of these harms. 
That holds the maiden in her arms, 
Seems to slumber still and mild, 
As a mother with her child. 

A star hath set, a star hath risen, 
O Geraldine! since arms of thine 
"^Have been the lovely lady's prison. 
O Geraldine! one hour was thine 
Thou'st had thy will! By taim and rill, 
; The night-birds all that hour were still. 

But now they are jubilant anew, 
^ From cliff and tower, tu— whoo ! tu— whoo 1 
\Tu — whoo ! tu — whoo ! from wood and fell ! 
And see! the lady Christabel 
Gathers herself from out her trance; 
Her limbs relax, her countenance 
Grows sad and soft; the smooth thin lids 
Close o*er her eyes; and tears she sheds — 
Large tears that leave the lashes bright! 
And oft the while she seems to smile 
As infants at a sudden light! 



Po^ical ]Vork» of p 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Ti»ents.ihret 

Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weep. 
Like a youthful hermitess, 
Beauteous in a wilderness. 
Who, praying always, prays in sleep. 
And, if she move unquietly. 
Perchance 'tis but the blood so free. 
Comes back and tingles in her feet. 
No doubt, she hath a vision sweet. 
What if her guardian spirit 'twere. 
What if she knew her mother near? 
But jthis she knows, in joys and woes, 
That saints will aid if men will call: 
For the blue sky bends over all! 



\ PART THE SECOND. 

Each matin bell, the Baron saith, 
Knells us bachytp a world of death. 
These words Sir Leoline first said. 
When he rose and found his lady dead; 
These words Sir Leoline will say. 
Many a morn to his dying day. 
And hence the custom and law began. 
That still at dawn the sacristan 
Who duly pulls the heavy bell. 
Five and forty beads must tell 
Between each stroke — a warning knell. 
Which not a soul can choose but hear 
From Bratha Head to Wyndermere. 



Poetical Work^ of 

^?^' , SAMVEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

Twenty-four 

Saith Bracy the bard, So let it knell! 
And let the drowsy sacristan 
Still count as slowly as he can! 
There is no lack of such, I ween 
As well fill up the space between. 
In Langdale Pike and Witch's Lair, 
And Dungeon-ghyll so foully rent, 
With ropes of rock and bells of air 
Three sinful sextons' ghosts are pent, 
Who all give back, one after t'other, 
The death-note to their living brother; 
And oft too, by the knell offended. 
Just as their one! two! three! is ended, 
The devil mocks, the doleful tale 
With a merry p^al from Borrowdale. 

\ The air is still! through mist and cloud 
' That merry peal comes ringing loud; 
■ And Geraldine shakes off her dread, 
.And rises lightly frond the bed; 

iPuts on her silken vestments white. 

And tricks her hair in lovely plight. 

And nothing doubting of her spell 

Awakens the lady Christabel. 

*Sleep you, sweet lady Christabel? 
I trust that you have rested well.' 
And Christabel awoke and spied 
The same who lay down by her side— 
O rather say, the same whom she 
Raised up beneath the old oak tree! 
Nay, fairer yet! and yet more fair! 



Poetical Works of Page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 7»en/i,-/rve 

For she belike hath drunken deep 
Of all the blessedness of sleep ! 
And while she spake, her looks, her air 
Such gentle thankfulness declare, 
That (so it seemed) her girded vests 
Grew tight beneath her heaving breasts. 
'Sure I have' sinned !' said Christabel, 
*Now Heaven be praised if all be welV!* 
And in low faltering tones, yet sweet. ^ 
Did she the lofty lady greet 
With such perplexity of mind 
As dreams too lively leave behind. 

So quickly she rose, and quickly arrayed 
Her maiden limbs, and having prayed 
That He, who oi> the cross did groan, 
^ight wash away her sins unknown, 
She forthwith led fair Geraldine 
To .meet her/ sire. Sir Leoline. 
The lovely maid and the lady tall 
Are pacing both into the hall. 
And pacing 6n through page and groom 
Enter the Baron's presence room. 

The Baron rose, and while he prest 
His gentle daughter to his breast, 
With cheerful wonder in his eyes 
The lady Geraldine espies, 
And gave such welcome to the same, 
As might beseem so bright a dame! 



Pa§e Poetical Wor^s ef 

Tmmtn-Bix SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

But when he heard the lady's tale, 
And when she told her father's name, 
Why waxed Sir Leoline so pale, 
Murmuring o'er the name again, 
Lord Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine? 

Alas! they Kad been frieft^ J.J5 youth; 
But whispering tongues can poisbn truth; 
And constancy lives in realms above; 
And life is thorny; and youth is vain; 
And to be ^rotti with one we love, 

^,.xT)oth work lil^e itadness in the brain. 

f And thus it clianced, as I divine, 
( With Roland and Sir Leoline. 
Each spake words of high disdain 
And insult to his heart's best brother : 

, They parted — ne'er to meet again! 
But never either fouftd another 
To free the hollow heart from paining — 
They stood aloof, the \scars remaining, 
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; 
A dreary sea now flows between, 
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, 
Shall wholly do away, I ween. 
The marks of that which once hath been. 
Sir Leoline, a moment's space. 
Stood gaaing on the damsel's face; 
And the youthful Lord of Tryermaine 
Came back upon his heart again. 



Poetical lVork» of Page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE r DcnO-seven 

then the Baron forgot his age, 

His noble heart swelled high with rage; 

He swore by the wounds in Jesu's side, 

He would proclaim it far and wide 

With trump and solemn heraldry, 

That they, who thus had wronged the dame. 

Were base as spotted infam^rf-. 

'And if they dare deny the same. 

My herald shall appoint a week, 

And let th6 redi^eant traitbrs seek 

My tourney court — that there and tjben 

1 may dislodge their reptile souls/' 
From the bodies of and forms of men! 

■ He spakeT his eye in lightning rolls! 

' For the lady was ruthlessly seized ; and he kepsed 
In the beautiful lady the child of his friend^ 
And now the tears were on his face, 

And fondly in his arms he took 

Pair Geraldine, who met the embrace. 

Prolonging it with joyous look 

Which when she viewed, a vision fell 

Upon the soul of Christabel, 

The vision of fear, the touch and pain! 

She shrunk and shuddered, and saw again 

(Ah, woe is me ! Was it for thee. 

Thou gentle maid! such sights to see?) 

Again she saw that bosom old, 

Again she felt that bosom cold, 

And drew in her breath with a hissing sound: 

Whereat the Knight turned wildly round, 

And nothing saw, but his own sweet maid 

With eyes upraised, as one that prayed. 



Page Poeiitui tr uii^» <tf 

Tnent\f-eighl SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

The touch, the sight, had passed away, 

And in its stead that vision blest, 

Which comforted her after-rest. 

While in the lady's arms she lay. 

Had put a rapture in her breast, 

And on her lipS" and o*m^ Jier eyes. 

Spread smiles like light! ^>^ 

With riew surprise, 

*What ails then my beloved child?' 

The Baron' said— His daughter mild 

Made answei*^ 'AH will yet be weM!' 
'/^'l ween she had rto power to tell 
f Aught else: so mighty was the sJpell. 
^ Yet he, who saw tJ^is Gerzildine, 
^' Had deemed her sure a thing divine. 

Such sorrow with such grace she blended, 
\ As if she feared she liad offended 

^^weet Chri^t^bel, that gentle maid! 

And with such lowly tones she prayed. 

She might be sent without delay 

Home to her father's mansion* 

'Nay! Nay, by my soul!' said Leoline. 
*Ho ! Bracy the bar4, the charge be thine I 
Go thou, with music sweet and loud. 
And take two steeds with trappings proud. 
And take the youth whom thou lov'st best. 
To bear thy harp, and learn thy song. 
And clothe you both in solemn vest. 
And over the mountains haste along. 
Lest wandering folk, that are abroad. 
Detain you on the valley road. 



Poetical Works of Page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Tv^eniynine 

And when he hath crossed the Irthing flood, 

My merry bard! he hastes, he hastes 

Up Knorren Moor, through Halegarth Wood, 

And reaches soon that castle good 

Which stands and threatens Scotland's wastes. 

Bard Bracy! bard Bracy! your horses are fleet, 

You must rid^ up the hall, your music so sweet, 

More,Jloud,-jthaii your horses' echoing feet! 

And/loud arid loud to Lord Roland calli 

Thy daughter is safe in Langdale halU 

Tny beautiful daughter is safe and, free — 

Sir Leoline greets thee thus through me. 

(He bids thee come without delay, 

iWith all thy numeroiw array, 

;And take thy lovely daughter home: 

And he will meet thee on the way 

With all his jfiumerous array 

White with, their panting palfreys' foam. 

And, i>y mj^ honor! I will say. 

That I repeat me of the day. 

When I spake words of fierce disdain 

To Ronald de Vaiix of Tryermaine ! — 

— For since that evil hour hath flown, 

Many a summer's sun have shone; 

Yet ne'er found I a friend again 

Like Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine.' 



Page Poetical Wor^i of 

Thirty SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

The lady fell, and clasped his knees, 
Her face upraised, her eyes overflowing; 
And Bracy replied with faultering voice, 
His gracious hail on all bestowing: — 
Thy words, thy sire of Christabel, 
Are sweeter than my harp can tell. 
Yet might I gain a boon of thee, 
This day my journey should nbt be ; 
So Strange a dream hath come to me; 
That I vowed with music loud 
To clear yon wood from thing unbleati. 
Warned by k vision in my rest! 
' For in my sleep I saw that dove. 

That gentle bird whom thou dost love, ^ 
And call'st by thy own daughter's name — '■ 
Sir Leoline! I saw the same 
Fluttering, and uttering fearful moan, \ 

Among the green herbs in the forest aloAe. 
Which when I saw and when I heard, 
I wondered what might ail the bird : 
For nothing near it could I see, 
Save the grass and the green herbs underneath 
the old tree. 



Poetical Works of Page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Thiri^-one 

And in my dream, methought, I went 

To search out what might there be found: 

And what the sweet bird's trouble meant. 

That thus lay fluttering on the ground. 

I went and peered, and could descry 

No cause for h^jr distressful cry; 

But yet for hy^f dear lady's sake 

I stooped, mlthought, the dove to take. 

When lo I I sa^ a bright green snake 

Coi^ifed rounla^^it^^wings and neck. 

Green as the )if rbs on which it coucljcd. 

Close by the d<>ve its head it crouchedl 

And with the ddye it heaves ^nd^^tirs, 

'Swelling its neck as she Swelled hers! 

I awoke; it was the midnight hour. 

The clock was ecjjojiig in the tower; 

But though my slumber was gone by, 

This dream it would not pass away — 

It ^eems to^lt^e upon my eye! 

And thcn^se i vowed this self-same day, 

With music strong and saintly song 

To wander through the forest bare 

Less aught unholy loiter there. 

\. 
Thus Bracy said: the Baron, the while. 

Half -listening heard him with a smile; 

Then turned to Lady Geraldine, 

His eyes made up of wonder and love; 

And said in courtly accents fine, 

Sweet maid. Lord Roland's beauteous dove, 

With arms more strong than harp or song, 

Thy sire and I will crush the snake! 



Page Poetical Worki of 

Thirtytvo SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 

He kissed her forehead as he spake. 
And Geraldine in maiden wise, 
Casting down her large bright eyes, 
With blushing cheek and courtesy fine 
She turned her from Sir Leoline ; 
Softly gatheiring up her tr^in, 
That o'er Iyer right arm fell agaiin; 
And folded her arms across her chest, 
And couched her head upon her breast, 
And looked askance at Christabel— >' 
.Jesu, Maria, shi^d her well! 
A snake^s small e^ye blinks duU and shy, 
f And the lady's '^y <^ they shrunk in her h^ad, 
\ Each shrunk up to a serpent's eye, 
f And with somewhat of malice, and more of dread 
At Christabel siae looked askance != — 

\One moment and the isight was fled! 
^ut Christabel in dizzjt trance, 
Stumbling on the unsteady ground — 
Shuddered aloud with a hissing soijnd; 
And Geraldine again turned round. 
And like a thing, that sought relief. 
Full of wonder and full of grief, 
She rolled her large bright eyes divine 
Wildly on Sir Leoline. 



Poetical Works of Page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Thirtythrcc 

The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone, 

She nothing sees — no sight but one! 

The maid, devoid of guile and sin, 

I know not now, in fearful wise 

So deeply had she drunken in 

That look, those shrunken serpent eyes, 

That all her features were resigned 

To this sole image in her tnind: 

And passively did imitate 

That look of dull and treacherous hate. 

And thus si^e stood, in dizzy trance. 

Still picturing that look askance, 

With forced unconscious sympathy 

Full before her father's view — 

As far as such a look could be, 

In eyes so innocent and blue ! 

And when the trance was o'er, the maid 

Paused awhile and inly prayed, 

Then falling at her father's feet, 

•By my mother's soul do I entreat. 

That thou this woman send away!' 

She said; and more she could not say. 

For what she knew She could not tell, 

O'er-mastered by the mighty spell. 

Why is thy cheek so wan and wild, 

Sir Leoline? Thy only child 

Lies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride. 

So fair, so innocent, so mild; 

The same, for whom thy lady died! 

O by the pangs of her dead mother 

Think thou no evil of thy child! 



p^gg Poelical Worlds of 

ThirtrUar SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

For her, and thee, and for no other, 
She prayed the moment ere she died: 
Prayed that the babe for whom she died, 
Might prove her dear lord's joy and pride I 
That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled. 
Sir Leoline! 
And wouldst thou wrong thy only child. 

Her child' aiid thine ?^. 
Within the/ Baron's heart and 1>rain 
If thought^ like these, had any Share, 
They oftly swelled his rage and pain. 
And did but Wprk confusion there. / 
liis heart wsls c^eft with pain and rag**- 
His cheeks they quivered, his eyes were wild. 
Dishonored thiis irt his qld age; 
Dishonored by hiis only child, 

'! And all his hospitality 

' To th' insulted daughter of his friend, 
By more than woman's jealousy, 
Brought thus to a disgraceful end- 
He rolled his eyes with stern regard 
Upon the gentle minstrel bard. 
And said in tones abrupt, austere — 
Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here? 
I bade thee hence! The bard obeyed; 
And turning from his own sweet maid. 
The aged knight. Sir Leoline, 
Led forth the lady Geraldine! 



Potiical Works of Pagt 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Tbirt^-fi*€ 



THE CONCLUSION TO PART THE SECOND. 

A little child, a limber elf, 

Singing, dancing to itself, 

A fairy thing with red round cheeks 

That always finds and never seeks, 

Makes such a vision to the sight 

As fills a father's eyes with light; 

And pleasures flow in so thick and fast 

Upon his heart, that he at last 

Mus^t needs es^press his love's excess 

With words of unmeant bitterness. 

Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together 

^Thoughts so unlike each other; 

ITo mutter and mock a broken charm, 

To dally with wrong that does no harm. 

Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty 

At each wild word to feel within 

A sweet recoil of love and pity. 

And what if in a world of sin 

(O sorrow and shame should this be true t) 

Such giddiness of heart and brain 

Comes seldom save from rage and pain, 

So talks as it's most used to do. 



Page Poetical IVorks of 

Thirtyf-six SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 



S)ong0 of tbt ^itm 



The Pixies, in the superstition of I>evonshirc, are a race of beings invisibly 
small, and harmless or friendly to man. At a small distance from a village 
in that county, half-way up a wood-covered hill, is an excavation, called the 
Pixies' parlor. The roots of old trees form its ceiling; and on its sides are 
innumerable ciphers, among which the author discovered his own cipher and 
those of his brothers, cUft by the hand of their chflabood. At the foot of the 
hill flows the river Otter. 

To this place the author conducted a party of young ladies, during the 
summer months of the year 1793; one of whom, of stature elegantly small, 
and of complexion colorless yet dear, was proclaimed the Fairy Queen: on 
which occasion, and at tlrl^ich time, the following irregular /<ide was written. 



Whom the untaught Shepherds call 
PIXIES in their madrigal, 

Fancy's children, here we dwell: 

Welcome, ladies! tovour cell. 

Here the wren of softest note 
•Builds its nest and warbles well; 

Here the blackbird strains his throat: 
Welcome, ladies! to our cell. 



Poetical Works of P^i^ 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Thirty ^en 

II. 

When fades the moon all shadowy-pale, 
And scuds the cloud before the gale, 
Ere Morn with living gems bedight 
Streaks the east with purple light. 
We sip the furze-flower's fragrant dews, 
Clad in robes of rainbow hues; 
Richer than the deepened bloom 
That glows on summer's scented plume; 
Or sport amid the rosy gleam 
Soothed by the distant-tinkling team. 
While lusty labor scouting sorrow 
Bids the Dame a glad good-morrow, 
Who jogs th' accustomed road along, 
And paces cheery to her cheering song. 

HI. 

But not ourfilmy pinion 

We scorch amid the blaaje of day, 

When Noontide's fiery-tressed minion 

Flashes the fervid ray. 

Aye fron[i the sultry heat 

We to the cave retreat, 
O'ercanopied by huge roots intertwined 
With wildest texture, blackened o'er with age: 
Round them their mantle green the ivies bind, 

Beneath whose foliage pale 

Fanned by the unfrequent gale 
We shield us from the Tyrant's mid-day rage. 



(4) 



Page Poetical Works of 

Thiri},-eighi SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

IV. 

Thither, while the murm'ring throng 
Of wild-bees hum their drowsy song, 
By Indolence and Fancy brought, 
A youthful Bard, 'unknown to Fame,* 
Woos the Queen of solemn thought, 
And heaves the gentJe^TrtisW of a sigh 
Gazing yith tearful eye, **N. 
As round ^ur sandy grot appeaK 
M^y-a, rudely sculptured name 
To pensive Mem'ry iiear ! 
Weaving gay l^re^s of sunny- tinc^urgd -ijue 
,r^ We glance '^ef ore his view: ■'/' ^ . 

/0*er his hushed spiil our soothing witch'ries shed, 
; And twine our fairy garlands t'ound his head!^ 

i V. 

When Evening's dtigky car 
\ Crowned with her dewy star /• 

Steals o'er the fading sky in shadowy flight; 
On. leaves of aspen trees 
We tremble to the breeze. 
Veiled from the grosser ken of mortal sight. 

Or, haply, at the visionary hour. 
Along our wild sequestered walk, 
We listen to th' enamoured rustic's talk; 
Heave with the heavings of the maiden's breast. 
Where young-eyed Loves have built their turtle 
nest ; 
Or guide of soi^l-subduing power 
Th' electric flash, that from the melting eye 
Darts the fond question and the soft reply. 



Poetical Works of Page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Thlriyf-nine 

VI. 

Or thro' the mystic ringlets of the vale 
We flash our fairy feet in gamesome prank; 
Or, silent-sandalled, pay our defter court 
Circling the spirit of the western gale, 
Where, wearied with his flower-caressing sport, 
Supine he slumb€F§on"a "violet bank; 
Then with quaint music hymn the parting gleam, 
By lonely Otter's sleep-pursuading stream; 
Or wb<ff e BH, wave with loud unquiet >png 
Dashed o'er t&e^ rdiqky channel froths along; 
Or where, his sifver '>vaters smoothed %q rest, 
Tile tall tree's shadow sleeps upon his breast. 

\ VII. 

I Hence ! thou Im^er, Light ! 
\ Eve saddens ihio Night. 
Mother of wil0y-working dreams ! we view 
The sombr0 .liours, that touriid thee stan<J^ 
With down-cast eyes (a duteous band !) 
Their dark rcjbes dripping with the heavy dew. 
SorceressVpf the ebon throne! 
Thy power the Pixies own, 
When round thy rayen brow 
Heaven's lucent roses glow. 
And clouds, in wat'ry colors drest, 
Float in light drapery o'er thy sable vest; 
What time the pale moon sheds a softer day. 
Mellowing the woods beneath its pensive beam: 
For 'mid the quiv'ring light 'tis ours to play, 
Aye dancing to the cadence of the stream. 



Page Poetical Works of 

Forty, SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

VIII. 

Welcome, Ladies! to the cell, 
Where the blameless Pixies dwell, 
But thou. Sweet Nymph! proclaimed our Fairy 
Queen, 
With what obeisance meet 
Thy presence shall we greet? 
For lo! attendant on thy steps are seen 
Graceful Ease in artless stole 
And white-robed Purity of soul, 
With Honor's softer mien: 
Mirth of the loosely-flowing haip» 
And meek-eyed Pity eloquently fair, 
/ Whose tearful . cheeks are lovely to the view, 
As snow-drop wet with dew. 

;! IX. 

Unboastf ul* MaidI tho' now the Lily pale 

Transparent grace thy beauties meek; 
Yet ere again along th' impurpling vale. 
The purpling vale and elfin-haunted grove, 
Young Zephyr his fresh flowers profusely throws, 

We'll tin^^ with livelier hues thy cheek; 
And, haply frbm the nectar-breathing Rose 
Extract a Blusfi'^fpr Lpwei 



Poetical fVor^s of Page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Fortj,-onc 



©pmn 

BEFORE SUN-RISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI. 

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star 
In his steep course? So long he seems to pause 
On thy bald awful head, O sovran plane ! 
The Arve and Arveiron at thy base -^ 
Rave ceaselessly i but thou, most awful Form! 
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, 
How silently! Around thee and above -^ 
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, 
An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it, 
A§ with a wedge! But when I look again, 
Itj is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, y 
Thy habitation from eternity! i 

4read and silent Mount I I gazed upon thee,y 
Till^thou, still /present to the bodily sense, 
Didst vanish firom my thought: entranced ip^ prayer 

1 worshipped the Invisible alone. 

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody. 
So sweet, we know not we are listening to it. 
Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my 

Thought, 
Yea, with my Life and Life's own secret joy : 
Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused, 
Into the mighty vision passing — there 
As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven ! 



Pase Poetical Works of 

Foriy-tito SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERiDCE 

Awake, my soul! not only passive praise 
Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, 
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake, 
Voice of sweet song ! Awake, my heart, awake ; 
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn. 

Thou first apd chief, sole sovran of the Vale ! 
O struggling with the darkness alj[ the night, 
And visited 4ll night by troops of*^tars, 
Or when they climb the sky or when they sink : 
Companion of ^ the morning-star at dawn, 
Thyself Earth's rolpy star, and of the dawn 
Co-herald: wak6, 6 wake, and utter praise I 
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in Earth ? 
Who filled thy countenance"^ith rosy light ^, 
;Who made thee parent of perpetual streams? 

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad ! 
Who called you forth from night and utter d^ath, 
From dark and icy caverns called you forth, 
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, 
Forever shattered and the same forever? 
Who gave you your invulnerable life. 
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, 
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? 
And who commanded (and the silence came), 
Here let the billows stiffen, and have resrt? 



Poetical Works of Page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERiDCE Forty ihrte 

Ye Ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow 
Adown enormous ravines slope amain — 
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, 
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! 
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! 
Who made you glodous as the Gates of Heaven 
Beneath the keen full moon?' Whp bade the sun 
Clothe you wi^h rainbows ? Who, witiji living flowers 
Of lov^est blue, spread garlands at ^^r feet? — 
God I let the torrents, like a shout of nations, 
Answer! and le^t the ice-plains echo, jQbd! 
Qdd ! sing ye m6adow-streams with glardsomel voice ! 
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds I 
lAnd they too have. ^ voige, yon piles of snoW, 
if^nd in their perilous fall shall thunder, God ! 

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! 
1r^ wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! 
Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain-storm! 
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ! 
Ye signs and wonders of the element! 
Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise! 



Page Poetical WoTk» of 

Fortrlour SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

Thou too, hoar Mount ! with thy sky-pointing peaks, 
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, 
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene 
Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast — 
Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou 
That as I raise my hea.d,., awhile bowed low 
In adoration, upward from thy base 
Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, 
Solemnly seenlest, like a vapory clotid, 
To rise before iHe — Rise, O ever rise. 
Rise like a cloud of incense, from the Earth! 
THou kingly Sj^rit I throned among the hill^ 
frhou dread embassacdor from Earth to Heaveh, 
ijGreat Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, / 

And tell the stars, and t^l yon rising sun, 
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. 



Poetical Worki of PaZ* 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Fort^-fipt 



JLetoti 

At midnight by the stream I roved, 
To forget the form I loved. 
Image of Lewti! from my mind 
Depart; for Lewti is not kind. 

The mqon was high, the moonlight gleam 

And me shadow of a star 

Heaved upon ^^niaha's stream; 

Biit the rock shqne brighter far, 

The rock half-sheltered from my view 

JBy pendent boughs of tregsy yew— • 

So shines my Le\^trs forehead fair, 
Gleaming through her sable hair. 
Image of Lewti I from 'my mind 
Depart; for Lewti is not kind. 

I saw. a cloud of palest hue. 

Onward f to the moon it passed; 
Still brighten, and more bright it grew, 
With floating^ colors not a few. 

Till it reached tiie moon at last: 
Then the cloud was wholly bright, 
With a rich and amber light! 
And so with many a hope I seek, 

And with such joy I find my Lewti ; 
And even so my pale wan cheek 

Drinks in as deep a flush of beauty! 
Nay! treacherous image! leave my mind. 
If Lewti never will be kind. 



Page Poetical lVork» of 

Forl);-3ix SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

The little cloud — it floats away, 

Away it goes; away so soon! 
Alas! it has no power to stay: 
Its hues are dim, its hues are gray — 

Away it passes from the moon! 
How mournfully-at-seeQis to fly, 
Ever fadir)^ more and more, >.. 
To joyless regions of the sky— - ^ 
And^-now Sis whiter ^^ thin before !^'vv 
As white x^s kiy pdoi^; cheek will be, ; 
When, Lewti ! on my couch I lie, 
y A dying main f<Jr love of thee. 
/ Nay, treachefous image! leave my mind-t- 
And yet, thou didst not look unkind. 

Z.J- "liafC^ 

I saw 41 Vapor |j»ftne sky. 
Thin, and whCtci and very high: 
I ne'er beheld so thin a cloud: 
Perhaps the breezes that can fly, 
Now below and now above, 
Have snatched aloft the lawny shroud 
Of Lady fair — that died for love. 
For maids; as well as youths, have perished 
From fruitless love too fondly cherished. 
Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind — 
For Lewti never will be kind. 

Hush! my heedless feet from under 
Slip the crumbling banks forever: 
Like echoes to a distant thunder. 
They plimge into the gentle river. 
The river-swans have heard my tread, 
And startle from their reedy bed. 



Poetical Works of Page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Forly-atvm 

O beauteous birds! methinks ye measure 
Your movements to some heavenly tune! 

beauteous birds! 'tis such a pleasure 
To see you move beneath the moon, 

1 would it were your true delight 
To sleep by davj^id wake all night. 

I know the place where Lewti lies, 

When silent night has closed her %es ; 

It i^a breezy jasmine-bower, "\ 

The nightinglale sings o-er' her head: J 

Voice of the night! had I the pow^r^ 

That leafy labyrinth to thread, /-V'^ 

And creep, like thee)\, witlv sound-less tread, ; 

I then might view "hir bosorti white, 

Heaving lovely to my sight, 

As these two s^^;^s together heave 

On the gentlv^ swelling wave. 

Ohi that she saw me in a dream, 
And dreamt that I had died for care; 
All pale and wasted I would seem, 
Yet fair withal, as spirits are! 
I*d die indeed, if I might see 
Her bosom heave, and heave for mc! 
Soothe, gentle image! soothe my mind! 
To-morrow Lewti may be kind. 



p Poelical Work* of 

Fortyeight SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 



DDe to ^ata 

Nor travels my meand'ring eye 
The starry wilderness on high; 

Nor now withr ciMPious sight 
I mark the glow-worm as 'I pass. 
Move with "green radiance" thro' the grass, 
^.Aw ewieirald of light. 

ever-presel^t to my view! 
^^My wafted spirit lis with you, 

And soothes your boding fe^ia, 

1 see you all oppre^aed )vith gloom 
Sit lonely in that cl|(C,«tle^s room— 

Ah me ! you .are in tears ! 

\ Beloved Wornaii ! did y^VLfiy 
fehilled Friendship's daHs^ disliking eye, 

V Or jMtkth's untimely ^iri? 
With cruel weight these trifles i>re$s 
A temper iore with tenderness, . 
Where aches the void withjn. 



But why with sable ^and unblessed 
Should Fancy rouse within my breast 

Dim visaged shapes of Dread? 
Untenanting its beauteous clay, 
My Sara's soul has winged its way, 

And hovers round my head! 



Poetical IVorlfs of Pa^t 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Foriy,^nine 

I felt it prompt the tender dream, 
When, slowly sank the day's last gleam, 

You roused each gentler sense; 
As sighing o'er the blossom's bloom 
Meek Evening wakes its soft perfume 

With viewless influence. 

And hark, my Love! the sea-breeze moans 
Thro' yon reft house! O'er rolling stones. 

In ambitious sweep 
The onward-surging tides supply 
The silence of the cloudless sky 

With mimic thunders deep. 

Dark-redd'ning from, the channel'd^Isle 
(Where stands onfe^fiolitary pile 

Unslated by the blast) 
The watchfire, likje a sullen star, 
Twinkles to i3S;^y a dozing Tar, 

Rude-cramed on the mast. 

Ev'n there— beneath that lightt:house tower- 
In the tuntultuous evil hour 

Ere Peace with Sara came, 
Time was, I should have thought it sweet 
To count the echoings of my feet. 

And watch the troubled flame. 



Page Poetical Worki of 

Fifty SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

And there in black soul-jaundiced fit 
A sad gloom-pampered Man to sit, 

And listen to the roar, 
When mountain surges, bellowing deep. 
With an uncouth monster leap 

Plunged foaming on the shore. 

Then by tho^tightrimg^s^^lgze to mark. 
Some toili^ tempest-shattered bark: 

Her va^n distress-sruns hear: 
And wnen a ^second sheet of light 
Hashed o'dr the blacktieiss of jthe night — 

To see "-^ x/^^ucel there! 

;' But Fancy now rnpre gayly sings; 

Or if awhile she drpop her wings, 
j As skylarks *mi# tlie corn. 

On summer fields she grounds her breast:; 

Th' oblivious poppy dkf her nest, '. 

Nods, ^ji returning morn. 

O mark those smiling tears, th^ swell,/ 
The opened rose ! From heaven they fell. 

And with the sunbeam blertd; 
Blesst visitations from above: 
Such are the tender woes of Love 

Fost'ring the heart they bend! 



Poetical Worlds of Page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Fifty^-on* 

When stormy Midnight howling round 
Beats on our roof with clatt'ring sound. 

To me your arms you'll stretch: 
Great God! you'll say— To us so kind, 

shelter from this loud bleak wind 

The houseless, friendless wretch! 

The tears that^frem'Ble down, your cheek. 
Shall bathe njjy kisses chaste and meek 

In Pity's\dew divine: 
And^-om 5^ur Jieart the sighs that steV 
Shajfl make yopr i;;ising bosom feel 
^/ The answering swell of mine ! 

fHow o£t^ my Lov^ with sh^pings^ sweet 

1 paint the morhent^fe sKalJ, rtieet ! ' 

With eager speed I dart — 
I seize you in the -vacant air, 
And fancy, witjl^a husband's care, 

I press yfi^ to my heart? 

*Tis said, ill Summer's evening hour 
Flashes the golden-coloured flower 

A fair electric flame: 
And so shall flash my love-charged eye 
When all the heart's big ecstacy 

Shoots rapid through the flame! 



Page Poetical Work* of 

Fiftiftipo SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 



Cfte iao0e 

As late each flower that sweetest blows 
I plucked, the garden's pride! 

Within the petals of a rose 
A sleeping Love I spied. 

Around his brows a beamy wreath 

Of many a lucent hue; 
All purple glowed his cheek, beneath. 

Inebriate with dew. 

I softly seizfed the unguarded power, 
Nor scared his balmy rest; 

And placed him', caged within the flower, 
On spotless Sata*s breast. 

But when unweetinjg pf the guile 
Awoke the pris'ner sweet, 

He struggled to escape awhile 
And stamped his fairy feet. 

Ah! soonlthe soul-entrancing i^ght 
Subdued the impatient boy ! 

He gazed! he thrilled with deep delight! 
Then clapped his wings for joy. 

'And oh!' he cried — *Of magic kind 
What charms this throne endear! 

Some other Love let Venus find — 
I'll fix my empire here.' 



Poetical Worlds of 

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



Page 
Fifi}f-three 



An Ancient 
Mariner 
meeteth three 
Gallants 
bidden to a 
wedding-feast, 
and detaineth 
one. 



The Wedding- 
Guest is spell- 
bound by the 
eye of the old 
sea-faring 
man, and con- 
strained to 
hear his tale. 



C6e Kime of tfte ancient partner 

Part the First. 

It is an Ancient Mariner, 
And he stoppeth one o£ three, 
"By thy long gray beard and glittering eye, 
Now wherefore stopp*st thou me? 

The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, 
And I am next of kin ; 
The guests are met, the feast is set : 
M'ay'st hear the merry din.' 

He holds him with his skinny hand, 
*^There was a ship," qupth he. 
*'Hold off! unhand me, gray-beard loon!" 

Eftsoons his hand dropt he. 

He holds him with his glittering eye — 
The Wedding-Guest stood still,. 
And listens like a three years' child: 
The Mariner hath his will. 

The Wedding-Guest sat on a ^tone ; 
He cannot choose but hear; 
And thus spake on that ancient man, 
The bright-eyed Mariner. 



(5) 



Page 
Fifty-four 



Poetical Work^ of 
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



The Mariner 
tells how the 
ship sailed 
southward with 
a good wind 
and fair wea- 
ther, till it 
reached the 
line. 



"The ship was cheered, the harbor cleared, 
Merrily did we drop 
Below the kirk, below the hill, 
Below the lighthouse top. 

The Sun came up upon the left 
Out of the sea came he! 
And he shone bright, and on the right 
Went down into the sea. 

Higher and higher every day. 
Till over the mast at noon — " 
The Wedding-Guest here beat his, breast, 
J^OT he heard the loud bassoon. 

The Bride hath paced into the hall. 
Red as a rose is she; 
Nodding their heads before her goes 
The merry minstrelsy. 

The Wedding- Guest he beat his breast, 
Yet he cannot choose but hear; 
And thus spake on that ancient man 
The bright-eyed Mariner. 

"And now the Storm-blast came, and he 
storm toward Was tyrannous and strong: 

the south pole. -' . , , . , , i • 

He struck with his o'ertakmg wings, 
And chased us south along. 



The Wedding- 
Guest heareth 
the bridal 
music; but the 
Mariner con- 
tinueth his 
tale. 



The ship 
driven by a 



Poetical IVorks of 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

With sloping masts and dipping prow, 

As who pursued with yell and blow 

Still treads the shadow of his foe, 

And forward bends his head, 

The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, 

And southward aye we fled. 



Page 
Fifly-five 



And now there came both mist and snow, 
And it grew wondrous cold: 
And ice, mast-high, came floating by, 
As green as emerald. 



The land of 
ice, and of 
fearful sounds 
where no liv- 
ing thing was 
to De seen. 



And through the drifts the snowy clifts 
Did send a dismal sheen: /^ ^ "^ 

Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken - 
frhe ice was all between. 



The ice was here, the ice was there, 

The ice was all around: 

It cracked and growled, and roared and howled. 

Like noises in a swound! 



Till a great 
sea-bird, called 
the Albatross, 
came' through 
the snow-fog, 
and was re- 
ceived with 
freat joy and 
ospitahty. 



At length did cross an Albatross: 
Through the fog it came; 
As if it had been a Christian soul. 
We hailed it in God's name. 

It ate the food it ne'er had eat. 
And round and round it flew. 
The ice did split with a thunder-fit; 
The helmsman steered us through! 



Page 
Fift^-six 



Poetical Works of 
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



Andlo! the 
Albatross 
proveth a bird 
of good omen, 
and followeth 
the ship as it 
returned north- 
ward through 
fog and float- 
ing ice. 



And a good south wind sprung up behind; 

The Albatross did follow, 

And every day, for food or play, 

Came to the mariner's hollo! 

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, 

It perched for vespers nine; 

Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white. 

Glimmered the white Moon-shine. 



The Ancient 
Mariner 
inhospitably 
killeth the 
pious bird of 
good omen. 



"God save thee. Ancient Mariner! 
From the fiends, that plague thee 



Why look'st thou so?"- 
I shot the Albatross. 



thus ! -— 
'With my cross-bow 



Part the Second. 

The Sun now rose upon the right 
Out of the sea came he, 
^^till hid in inist, and Oh the left 
"^ent down into the sea. 

And the good south wind still blew behind. 
But no sweet bird did follow. 
Nor any day, for food or play, 
Came to the mariners* hollo! 



His shipmates 
cry out 
against the 
Ancient 
Mariner, 
for killing the 
bird of good 
luck. 



And I had done an hellish thing. 

And it would work 'em woe: 

For all averred, I had killed the bird 

That made the breeze to blow. 

Ah, wretch! said they, the bird to slay, 

That made the breeze to blow! 



Poetical IVorl^s of 

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



Page 
F if i\f -seven 



But when the 
fog cleared 
off, they justi- 
fy the same, 

and thus make 
themselves ac- 
complices in 
the crime. 



The fair 
breeze con- 
tinues; the 
ship enters the 
Pacific Ocean, 
and sails 
northward, 
even till it 
'•'-"ohes the 



The ship hath 
been suddenly 
becalmed. 



Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, 

The glorious Sun uprist: 

Then all averred, I had killed the bird 

That brought the fog and mist. 

'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay. 

That bring the/ fog and mist. 

The fair bree?;e blew, the white foanj flew. 

The furrow followed free: 

We .were the first that ever burst 

Intd that silent sea. 

Down drop t the tree^, the ss&s^^v^pt down,--| 
*Twas sad as sad could be; 
And we did speak only to break 
The silence of the sea! 



All in a hot and copper sky, 

The bloody Sim, at noon, 

Right up above the mast did Stjand, 

No bigger than the Moon. "^ - 

Day after day, day after day. 
We stuck, nor breath nor motion ; 
As idle as a painted ship 
Upon a painted ocean. 



And the 
Albatross 
'^'""^ins to be 
nged. 



Water, water, every where, 
And all the boards did shrink; 
Water, water, every where, 
Nor any drop to drink. 



Page 
Fift^-eight 



Poetical Works of 
SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDCE 



A Spirit had 
followed them; 
one of the in- 
visible inhabi- 
tants of this 
planet, neither 
departed souls 
nor angels; 
concerning 
whom the 
learned Jew, 
Joscphus, and 
the Platonic 
Constantinopo- 
litan, Michael 
Psellus, may 
be consulted. 
They are very 
numerous, and 
there is no 
climate or ele- 
ment without 
one or more. 

The shipmates, 
in their sore 
distress, would 
fain throw the 
whole guilt on 
the Ancient 
Mariner: in 
sign whereof 
they hang the 
dead sea-bird 
round his 
neck. 



The very deep did rot: O Christ! 
That ever this should be! 
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs 
Upon the slimy sea. 

About, about, in reel and rout 
The death fires danced at night; 
The water, like a witch's oils, 
Burnt "gr«en;v and blue, jand white. 

And some in dre?ims assured were 
i^^Oi the Spirit that plagued us so: 
f Nine fathom deep he had followed us 
i From the land of ipist 'and snow. 

[' And every tongue, through utter drought; 
\ Was withered at the root ; 
^ We could not speak, no more than if 
We had been choked with soot. 

Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks 
Had I from old and young! 
Instead of the cross, the Albatross 
About my neck was hung. 

Part the Third. 



The Ancient 
Mariner 
beholdeth a 
sign in the 
element afar 
ofF. 



There passed a weary time. Each throat 

Was parched, and glazed each eye. 

A weary time! a weary time! 

How glazed each weary eye, 

When looking westward I beheld 

A something in the sky. 



Poetical Worlds of Page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Finynine 

At first it seemed a little speck, 
And then it seemed a mist: 
It moved and moved, and took at last 
A certain shape, I wist. 



At its nearer 
approach, it 
seemeth him 
to be a ship; 
and at a dear 
ransom he 
freeth his 
speech from 
tne bonds of 
thirst 



A flash of joy; 



A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist ! 
And still it tieared and neared: 
As if it dodged a water-sprite. 
It p^nge(i and tacked ai^ veered. 

"■-' ■ ' -■ / . 

With throats unslaked, with blac^'Jips- baked. 
We could nor laugh nor wail; 
Through utter drought all dumb we stood! 
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, 
And cried, *A sail ! a, sail !' 

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, 
Agape they heard me call: 
Gramercy! they for joy did grin. 
And all at once their breath drew in, 
As they were drinking all. 



And horror fol- 
lows. For can 
it be a ship 
that comes on- 
ward without 
wind or tide? 



*See ! see !' (I cried) *she tacks no more ! 
Hither to work us weal ; 
Without a breeze, without a tide. 
She steadies with upright keel!* 

The western wave was all aflame. 
The day was well-nigh done! 
Almost upon the western wave 
Rested the broad bright Sun; 
When that strange shape drove suddenly 
Betwixt us and the Sun. 



Page 
Sixt}f 



It seemeth him 
but the skele- 
ton of a ship. 



And its ribs 
are seen as bars 
on the face of 
the setting 
Sun. 

The Spectre- 
Woman and 
her Death- 
mate, and no 
other on board 
the skeleton- 
ship. 

Like vessel, 
like crew ! 



Death and 
Life-in-Death 
have diced for 
the ship's 
crew, and she 
(the latter) 
winneth the 
Ancient 
Mariner. 
No twilight 
within the 
courts of the 
Sun. 



Poetical Work* of 
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 

And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, 
(Heaven's Mother send us grace!) 
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered, 
With broad and burning face. 

Alas! (thoughi|; i; atid niy 4ieart beat loud,) 
How fast sh^ nears and neafS! 
Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, 
Like restless gossameres ! 

Ar^ those her\rib>5 through which the Sun 
/Did peer, as through a grate? 
'And is that Woman all her crew? 

Is that a Death? and ar^ ther6' two? ; 

lis Death that Womkil*s mate? 
f _. '"■'"'' ,.' 

Her lips were ted, he?^ looks were tree, i 

Her locks were yellow as gold: 

Her skin W^^ white as leprosy, 

The Night-Mare, Life-inrDeath, was she, 

Who thicks man's blood with cold. 

The naked Rull^ alongside came; 
And the twain were casting dicie; 
*The game is done! I've, I've won!* 
Quoth she, and whistles thrice. 

The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out: 
At one stride comes the dark; 
With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, 
Off shot the spectre bark. 



Poetical Worlds of 

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



Page 



Sixl\f-c 



■ f the Mooi 



'ne after 
; nother, 



We listened and looked sideways up! 

Fear at my heart, as at a cup, 

My life-blood seemed to sip! 

The stars were dim, and thick the night. 

The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white 

From the sails the dew did drip — 

Till clombe above the eastern bar 

The horned Moon, with one bright star 

Withir^ the n.ether tip. 

On^. 'after one, ^y^'sthe star-dogged Moon, 
Tidb quick for grpaii or sigh, 
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, 
And cursed me with his ,^ye. 



i^o/drn'*'^ ^ouT times fifty liyiiig men 
'^^''.^- (And I heard npr/Ugh nor groan). 

With heavy ththnp, a lifeless lump. 



They dropped down one bj^ one. 



But Life-in- 
Death begins 
her work on 
the Ancient 
Mariner. 



The souls did from their bodies fly, 
They fled to bliss or woe! 
And every souly it passed me by. 
Like the whizz of rily cross-bow f 



Part the Fourth. 



iles^felrlth" "^ ^^^^ thcc, Ancicnt Mariner ! 
:lking'tfhi^^ I fear thy skinny hand! 

And thou art long, and lank, and brown, 

As is the ribbed sea-sand. 



Page 
Sixt^-tiDo 



Poetical Works of 
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



But the An- 
cient Mariner 
assureth him 
of his bodily 
life, and pro- 
ceedeth to re- 
late his 
horrible 
penance. 



He despiseth 
the creatures 
of the calm. 



"I fear thee, and thy glittering eye, 
And thy skinny hand, so brown." — 

"Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest ! 
This body dropt not down. 

Alone, alone, all, all alone, 
Alone on a wide wide sea! 
And never a saint took pity on 
My soul in agony. 

The many men,\ so beautiful ! 

And they all dead did lie; 

And a thousand thousand slimy things 

Lived on; and so did Jl. 



And envieth 
that they 
should live, 
and so many 
lie dead. 



I looked upon thV rotting sea, 
And drew my eyes away; 
I looked upon the rotting deck, 
And there the dead men lay. 

j ■ \ \ V ■ 

I looked to Heaven; and tried to pfay 
But or ever a prayer had gusht, 
A wicked whisper came, and made 
My heart as dry as dust. 

I closed my lids, and kept them close. 

And the balls like pulses beat; 

For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky, 

Lay like a load on my weary eye, 

And the dead were at my feet. 



Poetical Works of 

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



Page 
S'lxt})- three 



But the curse 
liveth for him 
in the eye of 
the dead men. 



In his loneli- 
ness and fixed- 
ness he yeam- 
eth towards 
the journeying 
Moon, and the 
stars that still 
sojourn, yet 
still move on- 
ward; and 
every where 
the blue sky 
belongs to 
them, and is 
their appointed 
rest, and their 
native country 
and their own 
natural homes, 
which they en- 
ter unan- 
nounced, as 
lords that are 
certainly ex- 
pected and yet 
there is a si- 
lent joy at their 
arrival. 



By the light of 
the Moon he 
beholdeth 
God's creatures 
of the great 
calm. 



The cold sweat melted from their limbs, 
Nor rot nor reek did they; 
The look with which they looked on me 
Had never passed away. 

An orphan's curse would drag to Hell 

A spirit from, on high; ^ "• 

But oh! mori horrit>le\th|in that 

Is a ctfr^Tln a dead mail's eye! 4 

Seveji days, ^^en, nights, I saw that lurse, 

Aryi yet I CQulJi n^t die. 

The moving Mooti went up the sky, 
And no where did abide : 
Softly she was going up, 
And a star or two beside — 

Her beams bemocked th^ sultry main, 
Like. April hoar-frost spread; 
But where the ship's huge shadow lay. 
The charmed water burnt alway ^ 
A still and awful red. 

Beyond the shadow" of the ship, 

I watched the water-snakes: 

They moved in tracks of shining white. 

And when they reared, the elfish light 

Fell off in hoary flakes. 



Page 
Sixl^-four 



Poetical WorJ^a of 
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



Within the shadow of the ship 

I watched their rich attire: 

Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, 

They coiled and swam; and every track 

Was a flash of golden fire. 

O happy living things ! no tongue 
Their beauty might declare: 
A spring of love gushed from my heart, 
And I blessed them unaware! 
S>ire my kind , saint took pity on me, 
/And I blessed 'tjiei^ unaware. 

The self same mi&ml.ntyi'^^cQuld pray; 

And from my neck S0 free 
• The Albatross fell c>fT, and sank 
\Like lead into the sea. 



Part the 



FifK 



By grace of 
the holy 
Mother, the 
Ancient 
Mariner is re- 
freshed with 
rain. 



Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, 
Beloved from pole to pole! 
To Mary Queen the praise be given! 
She sent the gentle , sleep from Heaven, 
That slid into my soul. 

The silly buckets on the deck, 

That had so long remained, 

I dreamed that they were filled with dew; 

And when I awoke, it rained. 



Poetical lVor}(5 of 

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



Page 
Sixlyi-fn^e 



He heareth 
sounds and 
seeth strange 
sights and 
commotions in 
the sky and 
the element. 



My lips were wet, my throat was cold, 
My garments all were dank; 
Sure I had drunken in my dreams, 
And still my body drank. 

I moved, and could not feel my limbs: 
I was so light — almost 
I thought that I had died in sleep, 
And was a blessed ghost. 

And soon I heard a roaring wind: 
It did not come anear; 
But with its sound it shook the sails, 
That were so thin and sere. 

;The upper air bur^t into life! 
And a hundred fire-flags sheen. 
To and fro they were hurried about! 
And to and fro, and iti and out, 
The wan stars danced between. 

And the coming wind did roar more loud. 
And the sails did sigh like sedge; 
And the rain poured down from one black cloud 
The Moon ^s at its edge. 

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still 
The Moon was at its side: 
Like waters shot from some high crag 
The lightning fell with never a jag, 
A river steep and wide. 



Page 
Sixt\f-i 



Poetical Works of 
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



Sfsh?p's^c°ew '^^^ ^°^^ wind never reached the ship, 
and'Sfeyhi^* ^^* "°^ *^^ ^^^P moved on! 
moves on; Beneath the lightning and the Moon 

The dead men gave a groan. 

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose. 
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes; 
It had been strange, even in a dream, 
To have seen those dead men rise. 



But not by the 
souls of the 
men, nor by 
dsmons of 
the earth or 
middle air, but 
by a blessed 
troop of an- 
gelic spirits, 
sent down by 
the invocation 
of the guardi- 
an saint. 



The helmsman steered, the ship moved on; 

Yet never a breeze up blew; 

The mariners all 'gan work the rope^, 

y/here they were wont to do: 
/They raised their limbs like lifeless tools — 
i We were a ghastly crew* 

■ The body of my brother's son 
' Stood by me, knee to knee: 

.The Body and I pulled at one rope. 

But he said nought to me." 

"I fear thee. Ancient Mariner!" 
"Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest! 

'Twas not those souls that fled in pain. 

Which to their corses came again, 

But a troop of spirits blest: 

For when it dawned — they dropped their arms^ 
And clustered round the mast; 
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths 
And from their bodies passed. 



Poetical Works of p^g^ 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Sixtyf-seven 

Around, around, flew each sweet sound. 
Then darted to the Sun; 
Slowly the sounds came back again, 
Now mixed, now one by one. 

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky 
I heard the sky-lark sing; 
Sometimes all little birds that are. 
How they seemed to fill the sea and air 
With their svfeet jargoning! 

And now 'twas like all instruments, 
Now like a lonely flute; 
And now it is an angel's song, 
That makes the Heavens be mute. 

It ceased; yet still me^sails made on 

A pleasant noise till noon, 

A noise like of a hidden brook 

In the leafy month of June, 

That to the sleeping woods all night 

Singeth a quiet tune. 

Till noon we quietly sailed on. 
Yet never a breeze did breathe: 
Slowly and smoothly went the ship. 
Moved onward from beneath. 



Page 
Sixfy-eight 



Poetical IVorks of 
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



The lonesome 
Spirit from the 
south-pole 
carries on the 
ship as far as 
the Line, in 
obedience to 
the angelic 
troop, but still 
requireth ven- 
geance. 



The Polar 
Spirit's fellow- 
daemons, the 
invisable inhab- 
itants of the 
element, take 
part in his 
wrong; and 
two of them 
relate one 
to the other, 
that penance 
long and heavy 
for the Ancient 
Mariner hath 
been accorded 
to the Tolar 
Spirit, who re- 
turneth south- 
ward. 



Under the keel nine fathom deep, 
From the land of mist and snow, 
The Spirit slid: and it was he 
That made the ship to go. 
The sails at noon left off their tune 
And the ship stood still also. 

The Sun, right up above the mast, 
Had fixed her to the ocean: 
But in a minute she 'gan stir, 
With a short uneasy motion — 
Backwards ^ and forwards half her length 
With a shotf. lineasy motion. 

Then like a pawing horse let go, 
She made a sudden bound; 
It flung the blood into my head, 
And I fell down in a swound. 

//" V 
How long in /that sar1r^e fit I lay, 

1, have not to declare ; 

But ere my living life returned, 

I heard, and in my soul discerned 

Two voici^s in the air. 

^Is it he?* quoth one. Is this the man? 
By Him who died on cross. 
With his cruel bow he laid full low, 
The harmless Albatross. 



Poetical M^orJ^s of Page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Sixlyf-nine 

The spirit who bideth by himself 
In the land of mist and snow, 
He loved the bird that loved the man 
Who shot him with his bow.' 

The other was a softer voice, 

As soft as honey-dew: 

Quoth he, *Thf man hath penance done, 

And penance more will do/ 

iVt the Sixth. 

First Voice. 

*But tell me, tell me ! speak again, 

Thy soft response renewing — 

What makes that ship drive on so fast? 

What is the ocean doing?' 

Second Voice. 

*Still as a slave before his lord, 
The ocean hath no blast; 
His great bright eye most silently 
Up to the Mooii..Js cast — 

If he may know which way to go; 
For she guides him smooth or grim. 
See, brother, see! how graciously 
She looketh down on him.' 



(6) 



Page 
Se)>eni}f 



Poetical Work* of 
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



The Mariner 
hath been cast 
into a trance; 
for the angelic 
power causeth 
the vessel to 
drive north- 
ward faster 
than human 
life could 
endure. 



First Voice. 



*But why drives on that ship so fast, 
Without or wave or wind?* 

Second Voice. 

*The air is cut away before, 

And closes I from behind. 

\ 

Fly, brother, fly! more high, ^more high! 
Or we shall be belated: 
For slow and. slow that ship will go, 
When the Mariner's trance is abated.' 



The super- 
natural motion 
is retarded; 
the Mariner 
awakes, and 
his penance be- 
gins anew. 



I woke, and we Were sailing on 

As in a gentle weather: 

*Twas night, calm night, the moon was high? 

The dead men stood together. 

All stood together on the deck. 
For a charnel-dungeon fitter: 
All fixed on me their stony eyes, 
That in the Moon did glitter. 

The pang, the curse, with which they died, 
Had never passed away: 
I could not draw my eyes from theirs. 
Nor turn them up to pray. 



Poetical Works of 

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



Page 
Seventy-one 



The curse is 
finally expi- 
ated. 



And now this spell was snapt: once more 

I viewed the ocean green, 

And looked far forth, yet little saw 

Of what had else been seen — 

Like one, that on a lonesome road 
Doth walk in fear and dread, 
And, having once turned round, walks on 
And turns no more his head; 
Because he knows, a frightful fiend 
Doth/ close behind him tread. 

Bu€ soon there breathed a wind on me 
Nor sound nor motion made: 
Its path was not upon the sea. 
In ripple or in shade. 

It raised my haic^'^itf fanned my cheek 
Like a meadow-gale of Spring — 
It mingled strangely with my fears. 
Yet it felt like a welcoming. 

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship. 
Yet she sailed softly too: 
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze — 
On me alone it blew. 



And the An- Q dream of joy! is this indeed 

cient Manner •' -^ 

behoidethhis The light-house top I see? 

native country. ** & f 

Is this the hill? is this the kirk? 
Is this mine own countree? 



Page 
Stventyf-two 



Poetical Works of 
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



The angelic 
spirits leave 
the dead 
bodies, 



And appear in 
their own 
forms of light. 



We drifted o'er the harbor-bar, 
And I with sobs did pray — 

let me be awake, my God! 
Or let me sleep alway. 

The harbor-bay was clear as glass. 
So smoothly it was strewn! 
And on the bay the ifioonlight lay 
And the shadow of the moon. 

The rock shone bright, the kirk no 4ess, 
That stands above the rock: 
The moonlight steeped in silentness 
The steady weathercock. 

! And the bay was white with "silent light,' 

Till rising from the. same, 
: Full many shapes, that shadows were, 

In crimson colors came. 

A little distance from the prow 
Those crimson shadows were: 

1 turned my eyes upon the deck — 
Oh, Christ! what saw I there! 

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat. 
And, by the holy rood! 
A man all light, a seraph-man. 
On every corse there stood. 



Poetical IVorl^s of Page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Seventy-three 

This seraph-band, each waved his hand : 
It was a heavenly sight! 
They stood as signals to the land, 
Each one a lovely light ; 

This seraph-band, each waved his hand. 
No voice did they impart — 
No voice; but oh! the silence sank 
Like mtisic on my heart. 

But soon I heard the dash of oars, 
I heard the Pilot's cheer; 
My head was turned perforce away, 
And I saw a boat appear. 

The Pilot, and the Pilot's boy, 
I heard them coining fast: 
Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy 
The dead men could not blast. 

I saw alEhir^ — I heard his voice: 

It is the Hermit good! 

He singeth lo^^ his godly hymns 

That he makes iii^c wood. 

He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away 

The Albatross's blood. 



Page Poeiical Works of 

Seventxf'four SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

Part the Seventh. 

The^^ermitof xhis Hermit good lives in that wood 
Which slopes down to the sea. 
How loudly his sweet voice he rears! 
He loves to talk with marineres 
That come from a far coun tree. 

He kneels it morn, and noon, and eve — 
He hath a cushion , plump : 
It is the moss that wholly hides 
ht rotted old oak-stump. 



I T 



The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk,i 
f * Why this is strange, I trowf'^' / 

Where are those lights so many and fair,\ 
That signal made but now ? ' 

Approacheth ^ * Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit saidn- 
with wonder. \And they answered not our cheer! 

The planks looked i warped ! and see those sails 

How thin they are and sere! 

I never saw aught like to them, 

Unless perchance it were 

Brown skeletons of leaves that lag 

My forest-brook along; 

When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, 

And the owlet whoops to the wolf below 

That eats the she-wolf's young. * 



Poetical Works of 

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 

* Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look 
(The Pilot made reply) 
I am a-f eared ' — * Push on, push on I * 
Said the Hermit cheerily. 

The boat came closer to the ship, 
But I nor spake hbr stirred; 
The boat came close beneath the ship, 
And straight a sound was heard. 



Page 
Seventlf-five 



The ship sud- 
denly sinketh. 



The Ancient 
Mariner 
is saved in the 
Pilot's boat. 



Under the watdk, it rumbled /on, 

Still louder and niore dread: 

It reached the ship, it split the bay/; \ 

The ship went down like lead. 

Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, 

Which sky and ocean smote. 

Like one that hith bee^ seven days drowned 

My body lay afloat; 

But swift as dreams, myself I found 

Within the Pilot's boat. 



Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, 
The boat span round and round; 
And all was still, save that the hill 
Was telling of the sound. 

I moved my lips — the Pilot shrieked 
And fell down in a fit; 
The holy Hermit raised his eyes 
And prayed where he did sit. 



Page 
Sevent}f'3ix 



Poetical Works of 
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, 

Who now doth crazy go, 

Laughed loud and long, and all the while 

His eyes went to and fro. 

*Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see, 

The Devil knows how to row. ' 



The Ancient 
Mariner 
earnestly en- 
treateth the 
Hermit to 
shrieve him; 
and the pen- 
ance of life 
falls on him. 



And ever and 
anon through 
his future life 
an agony con- 
straineth him 
to travel from 
land to land, 



And now, all in my own countree, 

I stood on the firm land! 

The Hermit stepped forth liropa. the boat, 

And scarcely he \could stand. 

* O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man I * 
The Hermit crossed his brow. 

* Say quick, * quoth he, * I bid thee say — 
What manner of man art thou?' 

Forthwith this .fra^e' ><>f mine was wrenched 

With a woful agony. 

Which forged me to begin my tale; 

And then it loft jmel free. 

i 

Since then,. at an uncertain hour. 
That agony returns; 
And till my ghastly tale is told. 
This heart within me bums. 



I pass, like night, from land to land; 
I have strange power of speech; 
That moment that his face I see, 
I know the man that must hear me: 
To him my tale I teach. 



Poetical Works of 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 



Page 

Seveniyf-seven 



And to teach, 
by his own 
example, love 
and reverence 
to all things 
that God made 
and loveth. 



What loud uproar bursts from that door! 

The wedding-guests are there: 

But in the garden-bower the Bride 

And bride-maids singing are; 

And hark the little vesper bell, 

Which biddeth me to prayer! 

O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been 
Alone on a wide wide sea : 
So lonely 'twas, that God himself 
Scarie seemed there to be. 



car^( 



O sweeter than the marriage feast» 
*Tis sweeter far to jne. 
To walk together to the kirk 
With a goodly company! — 

To walk together to theikirk 

And all together pray, 

Whili^ each to his great Father bends, 

Old mei; and babes, and loving friends. 

And youths ^nd maidens gay! 

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell 
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest! 
He prayeth well, who loveth well 
Both man and bird and beast. 

He prayeth best, who loveth best 
All things both great and small; 
For the dear God who loveth us, 
He made and loveth all." 



Page Poetical Work* of 

Seventy-eight SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

The Mariner, whose eye is bright, 
Whose beard with age is hoar, 
Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest 
Turned from the bridegroom's door. 

He went like one that hath been stunned, 
And is of sense Idrl^ri: 
A sadder and a wiser man, 
He rose the morrow morn. 



^tltttion 

(Reflections) 

Low was bur pretty Cot! our tallest rose 
Peeped at the chamber-window. We could )iear 
"^At silent noon, and eve, and early morn, ; 
The sea's faint murmur. In the open air; 
Our myrtles blossomed; and across the porch 
Thick jasmins twined: the little landscape round 
Was green and woody and refreshed the eye. 
It was a spot, which you might aptly call 
The Valley of Seclusion! Once I saw 
(Hallowing his Sabbath-day by quietness) 
A wealthy son of commerce saunter by, 
Bristowa's citizen: methought, it calmed 
His thirst of idle gold, and made him muse 
With wiser feelings: for he paused, and looked 
With a pleased sadness, and gazed all around. 
Then eyed our cottage, and gazed round again, 
And sighed, and said, it n>as a blessed place. 



Poetical Works of P^i^ 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Seventh-nine 

And we were blessed. Oft with patient ear 
Long-listening to the viewless sky-lark*s note 
(Viewless, or haply for a moment seen 
Gleaming on sunny wings) in whispered tones 
IVe said to my beloved, *Such, sweet girl! 
The inobtrusive song of Happiness, 
Unearthly minstrelsy! then only heard 
When the soul seeks to hear; when all is hushed 
And the heart listens !' 

But the time, when first 
Fropfi that low Hell, steep up the stony mount 
I climbed with perilous toil and reached the tap, 
O what a goodly scene! Here the bleak mount, 
I'he bare bleak mountain speckled thin with sheep; 
Gray clouds, that shadowing spot the sunny fields; 
And river, now with bushy rocks o'erbrowed,. 
Now winding bright and full, with naked banks ; 
And seats, and Ijiwns, the abbey, and the wood, 
And cots, and hamlets, and faint city-spire: 
The Channel there, the islands and white sails, 
Dim coasts, and cloud-like hills, and shoreless ocean—' 
It seemed like Omnipresence! God, methought. 
Had built him there a Temple : the whole world 
Seemed imaged in its vast circumference. 
No wish profaned my overwhelmed heart. 
Blest hour! it was luxury, — to be! 



Page 



Poetical Works of 



Eighty, SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 

%tltttion 

{The Pains of Sleep) 

Ere on my bed my limbs I lay. 

It hath not been my use to pray 

With moving lips or bended knees; 

But silently, by slow degrees, 

My spirit I to Love compose, 

In humble trust mine eye-lids close. 

With reverential resignation, 

No wish conceived, no thought -cxprest. 

Only a sense of, supplication; 

A sense o'er all my soul imprest 

That I am weak, yet not unblest, 

Since in me^ round me, everywhere 

Eternal stt^gth iind wisdom are. 

To be beloved is all T need, 

And whom I love, I love indeed. 



©election 

(Religious Musings) 

Believe thou, O my soul, 
Life is a vision shadowy of truth; 
And vice, and anguish, and the wormy grave. 
Shapes of a dream ! The veiling clouds retire. 
And lo! the Throne of the redeeming God 
Forth flashing unimaginable day 
Wraps in one blaze earth, heaven, and deepest helL 



Poetical Works of Poi' 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Eighiy,-one 



Selection 

(Lines Written in Earl^ Youth) 

Now sheds the sinking sun a deeper gleam, 
Aid, lovely sorceress! aid thy poet's dream! 
With fairy wand O bid the maid arise. 
Chaste joyance dancing in her bright blue eyes; 
As erst when from the Muses' calm abode 
I came, with learning's meed not unbestowed : 
When, as she twined a laurel round my brow. 
And met my kiss, and half returned my vow. 
O'er all my frame shot rapid my thrilled heart. 
And every nerve confessed the electric dart. 

Q dear deceit ! I see the maiden rise. 

Chaste joyance dancing in her bright blue eyes, 

When first the lark high-soaring swells his throat 

Mocks the tired eye, and scatters the loud note, 

I trace her footsteps on the accustomed lawn, 

I mark her glancing 'mid the gleams of dawn. 

When the bent flower beneath the night-dew weeps, 

And on the lake the silver lustre sleeps. 

Amid the paly radiance soft and sad 

She meets my lonely path in moon-beams clad. 

With her along the streamlet's brink I rove ; 

With her I list the warblings of the grove; 

And seems in each low wind her voice to float 

Lone-whispering pity in each soothing note! 



Page Poetical Works of 

Eighfy-iD,o SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 



Selection 

(The Kiss) 

Yon viewless wandVer of the vale, 
The spirit of the western gale, 
At morning's break, at evening's close 
Inhales the sweetness of the rose. 
And hovers o'er th' uninjured bloom 
; Sighing back the soft perfume. 
Vigor to the zephyr's wing 
Her nectar-breathing kisses fling ; 

/ And he the glitter of thp deW 

( Scatters on the rose's hue. 

\ Bashful, lo ! she bends her head 

And darts a blush of deeper r^d! 



Selection 

(Lines on a Friend) 

Is this piled earth our Being's passless mound? 
Tell me, cold grave! is Death with poppies crown'd? 
Tired Sentinel! 'mid fitful starts I nod. 
And fain would sleep, though pillowed on a clod ! 



Poetical Works of Page 

SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE Eighiy-ihree 



Selection 

{Youth and Age) 



/' 



I 



Q^ Youth! for years so many and so sweet, 
jfis known, that Thou and I were one, 
I'll think it but a fond conceit — 
It cannot be that Thou art gone ! 
The Vesper-bell hath not yet tolled :— 
And thou wert aye a Masker bold I 
What strange Disguise hast now put on, 
To MAKE BELIEVE, that thou art gone? 
I see these Locks in silvery slips, 
This drooping Gait, this altered Size : 
But Springtide blossoms on thy Lips, 
And Tears take sunshine from thine eyes! 
Life is but Thought : so think I will 
That Youth and I are House-mates still. 



Page Poetical Worlds of 

Eight]f'four SAMUEL TA YLOR COLERIDGE 



Selection 

(ToC.Llo})d) 

O meek retiring spirit! we will climb, 
Cheering and cheered, this lovely hill sublime; 
And from the stirring world uplifted high 
(Whose noises faintly wafted on the wind, 
To quiet musings shall attune the mind. 
And oft the melancholy theme s\ipply), 
There, while the prospect thro* the gazing eye 
Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul, 
Well smile at wealth, and learn to smile at fame. 
Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the same, 
As neighboring fountains image each the whole. 



PART II. 



(7) 



Page 
Eight\f-five 



lEbgar Allan l^at 



THE following is largely, taken Jrom the work of Mr. Chas. 
F. Richardson of Dartmouth Gollege, whose Biography 
of Edgar Allan Poe in the Arnheim Edition is most excellent. 

"Edgar Allan Poe, was born in Boston, on the 19th of Jan- 
uary, 1809. ^He was the son of stfollipg players;, an adopted 
orphan, a \/ayward but hrilliant student, a literary back, in his 
short care^dr of forty years — often years of bitter poverty he 
* **hitche4' his wagon to ^ a star" ' as truly as did -the^v favored 
Emerson in his sheltered nook. His life was as chaste as his 
writings ; he was the center of a little home in which he was 
the idol of his young wife and her mother; his intense ambition 
did not in itself color his view of the world, though the tone 
of indreasing regret for thiugs past re-echoes through much of 
his verse. ) 

"E'%ar Allan Poe died on Sunday, the seventh of October, 
1849, and was buried the next day in the burial ground of 
Westminster Church, Baltimore. 

"The personal appearance of the poet was striking and in- 
dividual according to all testimony. A lady who well remembers 
him, writes — ' "His quiet elegance, courtly manners, musical 
voice, and refined accent, his glorious head and wonderful eyes 
made an impression which time does not efface." ' 

"Bishop Fitzgerald who saw Mr. Poe in 1849 said: '"There 
was a fascination about him that everybody felt. Meeting him 
in the midst of thousands a stranger would stop to get a second 
look and to ask '"Who is he"?' As regards his voice Thomas 
Higginson says : ' "that Poe read Ligeia before a Boston audience 
in a voice, whose singular music he never had heard equaled." ' 

"What new thing can be said of Poe's verse? True poetry 
is as self-explanatory as a bird-song or a gem. Scarcely less 
familiar than The Raven are the figures of Lenore or Annabel 
Lee, sweeping mystically from the hitherto to the hereafter. 



Page 
Eighiy-slx 

There is an indefinable mystery in The City in the Sea, The 
Sleeper, The Valley of Unrest, and The Haunted Palace, and 
we know that all of these have won a decided place in the temple 
of fame. 

"Mr. Lang has well spoken of ' "that rare quality, the strange, 
the hitherto unheard, yet delightful note which again and again 
is heard in the verse of Edgar Allan Poe — not his ideas but the 
beauty of his haunting lines confers on him the laurel."' His 
poems, known by English readers in their own dialect, transferred 
into the similar German, not wholly lost even when transmuted 
into French prose, occupy a place that is unique. And it may be 
added as Chas. W. Kent has said : " 'His music has in it the haunt- 
ing sense of something lost. The ipelody with its plaintiveness, the 
variations with their lingering and recurring themes, suggest far 
more thart they express. Her^ more is meant than meets the ear, and 
listeners of varying talents and aptitudes will perceive in these 
melo4KS different meanings. 

'fPoe Stands supreme, even in the only morally pure national 
literature the world has ever seqli, in the absolute chast^jty of 
his eyery word. The ideal vision of pure beauty, now incarnate 
and li'ow but a mist figure, pjillid or rosy, ever floated before the 
poet's eyes. It hypnotized him like a crystal ball. Tdl it he 
addressed the shorter lyric, 'To Helen,' most perfect of^jkll his 
poems. Annabel L^^ was not only th^ song of a single jvloss, but 
a passionate world-cry of the immortal to the immortal. Past 
One in Paradise flows the eternal streams. H Poe's assertive 
belief in the immortality of the soul of beauty sometimes veered 
toward the mood of despair, we must not forget that to every 
man, at times, death seepis death indeed, and the door of the 
tomb appears open to receive those who pass into the dreamless 
sleep with never a hint of release or renewal." 



Poetical Works of Page 

EDCAR ALLAN POE Eight},-5cven 



Co J^elen 

Helen, thy beauty is to me 

Like those Nicaean barks of yore, 
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, 

The weary, wayworn wanderer bore 

To his ^wn native shore. 

On desperate seas long Wont to roam, 
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face. 

Thy naiad airs, have brought me home 
To the glory that was Greece 
And the grandeur t^iai Syas Rome. 

Lo ! in yon brilliant window-niche 

How statue4ike I see thee stand. 

The agate lamp within thy hand! 

Ah, Psyche, from the /eJ^ions which 
Are Holy Land! 



Page Poetical Wor^s of 

Eighty-eight EDGAR ALLAN POE 



a Dream Mlftbin a Dream 

Take this kiss upon the brow! 

And, in parting from you now, 

Thus much let me avow: 

You are not wrong, wKo deem 

That my days have been a^Mjream; 

Yet if hope has flown away 

In a night, or in a day, 

In a vision, pr in none, 

Is it therefore the less goner^ 

All that we see or seem 

Is but a dream within ti dream. 

I stand amid the ''roar 
Of a surf-tormented shore, 
And I hold within my hand 
Grains of the golden sand — 
How few! yet how they creep 
Through my fingers to the deep, 
While I weep, — while I weep! 
O God! can I not grasp 
Them with a tighter clasp? 
O God! can I not save 
One from the pitiless wave? 
Is all that we see or seem 
But a dream within a dream? 



Poetical Works of Page 

EDCAR ALLAN POE Eighi^-n'me 



ILenore 

Ah, broken is the golden bowl! — the spirit flown 

forever ! — 
Let the bell toll ! — a saintly soul floats on the Stygian 

river ; 
And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear ? -i^r weep now, 

or nevermore! \ i \ 

See, on/yon dre^r ahd rigid bier low lies thy love, 

Lenore! 
Coine, let the burial rite be read — the funeral song 

I be sung! — 
Ari anthem for the queenliest de^d' that ever died so 

. young,— ; 

A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so 
' young. 

'Wretches! ye loved her for hei:^ wealth and hated her 

for her pride. 
And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her — 

that she died! 
How shall the ritual, then, be read? — the requiem how 

be sung 
By you — by yours, the evil eye, — by yours, the 

slanderous tongue 
That did to death the innocence that died, and died 

so young?" 



Page Poetical Work* of 

Ninety, EDGAR ALLAN POE 

PeccavimusI but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath 

song 
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no 

wrong ! 
The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope 

that flew beside. 
Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have 

been thy bride ! — 
For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies, 
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her 

eyes,— 
The life still there, upon her hair,— the death upon 

her eyes ! 

"Avaunt! To-night my heart is light! no dirge will 

I upraise. 
But waft the angel an her flight with a paean pf old 

days! K ) 

Let no bell UAt\ — lest n^r Isweet soul, anrfd its 

hallowed mirth, i , 
Should catch the note, as^ it doth float up from the 

damned Earth! 
To friends above, from fiends belcwv, the indignant 

ghost is riven, — 
From Hell unto a high estate far up within the 

Heaven, — 
From grief and groan to a golden throne, beside the 

King of Heaven." 



Poetical Works of ^««« 

EDGAR ALLAN POE Ninel}f-one 



Cfie Citp in tfte ®ea 

Lo! Death has reared himself a throne 

In a strange city lying alone 

Far down within the dim West, 

Where the good and the bad and the worst and 
the best 

Have gone to their eternal rest. 

Thei'e shrines and palaces and towers 

(Time-eaten towers that tremble not!) 

Resemble nothing that is ours. 

Around, by lifting winds forgot, 
' Resignedly beneath the sky 
\ The melancholy waters lie. 

No rays from the holy heaven come down 
On the long night-time of that town; 
But light from out the lurid sea 
Streams up the turrets silently, 
Gleams up the pinnacles far and free — 
Up domes—up spires — up kingly halls — 
Up fanes — up Babylon-like walls — 
Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers — 
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers — 
Up many and many a marvellous shrine 
Whose wreathed friezes intertwine 
The viol, the violet, and the vine. 



Page Poetical Worijfa of 

Nintlytwo EDGAR ALLAN POE 

Resignedly beneath the sky 

The melancholy waters lie. 

So blend the turrets* and shadows there 

That all seem pendulous in air, 

While from a proud tower in the town 

Death looks gigaQtica^down. 

There open fanes and gaping gloves 
Yawn level with the luipinous waves, 
But not the riches there tl^at lie 
In each idol's diamond eye, — 
Not the gayly-jewelled dead 
Tempt the waterk from their. bed; 
For no ripples curl, alas! 
Along that wilderness of glass; 
No swellings tell that winds may be 
Upon some far-off happier sea; 
No heavings hint that winds have been 
On seas less hideously serene. 

But Id, a stir is 'in theW! 
The wave — there is a movement there! 
As if the towers had thrust aside, 
In slightly sinking, the dull tide ; 
As if their tops had feebly given 
A void within the filmy Heaven. 
The waves have now a redder glow. 
The hours are breathing faint and low ; 
And when, amid no earthly moans, 
Down, down that town shall settle hence, 
Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, 
Shall do it reverence. 



Poetical Works of ^^8« 

EDGAR ALLAN POE Nintt^-ihrtt 



annabel Jl.ee 

It was many and many a year ago, 

In a kingdom by the sea, 
That a maiden there lived whom you may know 

By the narji'e'of ANNABEL LEE; 
And this maidfen she lived with no other thought 

Than to li^ve and be loved by me^. 

/ was a child ^a^>$/ie was af child, 

• In this kingdom by the sea, 
put we loved w\th \a love that was more than 
' love, — ''\ '\ ..■—'^'\ ■■• ' 

I and my ANNABEL LEE ; 
With a love that the' winged seraphs of heaven 

Coveted her and me. 

And this was the reason that, long ago, 

In this kingdom by the sea : 
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 

My beautiful ANNABEL LEE; 
So that her highborn kinsmen came 

And bore her away from me, 
To shut her up in a sepulchre 

In this kingdom by the sea. 

The angels, not half so happy in heaven. 

Went envying her and me, — 
Yes!— that was the reason (as all men know, 

In this kingdom by the sea) 
That the wind came out of the cloud by night 

Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE. 



Page Poetical Works of 

N'meiy-four EDGAR ALLAN POE 

But our love it was stronger by far than the love 

Of those who were older than we, — 

Of many far wiser than we; 
And neither the angels in heaven above, 

Nor the demons down under the sea, 
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 

Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE: 

For the moon never beams, without bringing me 
dreams 

Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE; 
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes 

Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE ; ^ 
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the /side 
Of my darling — my darling — my life and ray bride. 

In her sepulchre there by the sea. 

In her tomb by the sounding sea. 



Poetical Worlis of Pag* 

EDGAR ALLAN POE Nmely,-fi\,e 



30tafel 

And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who has the 
sweetest voice of all God's creatures. — Koran. 

In Heaven a spirit doth dwell, 

"Whose heart-strings are a lute.** 
None sing so wildly well 
As the angel Israfel, 
And the giddy stars (so legends tell), 
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell 

Of his vbice,\all mute. 
"■'"\ '^ \ 
Tottering above 

In her highest noon, 

The enamoured moon 
Blushes with love*— 

While, to listen, the red levin 

(With the rapid Pleiads, even. 

Which were seven) 

Pauses in Heaven. 

And they say (the starry choir 

And the other listening things) 

That Israfeli's fire 

Is owing to that lyre 

By which he sits and sings, — 

The trembling living wire 

Of those unusual strings. 



Page Poetical Works of 

Ninefy-six EDGAR ALLAN POE 

But the skies that angel trod, 

Where deep thoughts are a duty — 

Where Love's a grown-up God — 
Where the Houri glances are 

Imbued with all the beauty 

Which we worship in a star. 

Therefore /thou art not^wrong, 

Israfeli, who despisest 
An unimpassioned song ; 
To thee the laurels belong, 

Best bard, because the wisest! 
Merrily live, and long! 

The ecstasies above 

With thy burning measures suit 
Thy grief, thy joy; thy hate, thy love. 

With the fervor of thy lute: 

Well may the stars be mute! 

Yes, Heaven is thine; but this 

Is a world of sweets and sours; 
Our flowers are merely — flowers. 

And the shadow of thy perfect bliss 
Is the sunshine of ours. 

If I could dwell 
Where Israfel 

Hath dwelt, and he where I, 
He might not sing so wildly well 
A mortal melody, — 
While a bolder note than this might swell 

From my lyre within the sky. 



Poetical Worlds of Page 

EDCAR ALLAN POE Nmefy-.cvcn 



In the greenest of our valleys 

By good angels tenanted, 
Once a fair and stately palace — 

Radiant palace—reared its head. 
In the monarch Thought's dominion, 

It stood there I 
. Never seraph spread a pinion 
/^ dv6r fabric half so fair! 

Banners yellow, glorious, golden, 

On its roof did float and flow, 
(This — all this — was in the olden 

Time long ago). 
And every gentle air that dallied. 

In that sweet day, 
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, 

A winged odor went away 

Wanderers in that happy valley 

Through two luminous windows, saw 
Spirits moving musically, 

To a lute's well-tuned law, 
Round about a throne where, sitting 

(Porphyrogene !) 
In state his glory well befitting. 

The ruler of the realm was seen. 



Page Poetical Worki of 

Ninety-eight EDCAR ALLAN POE 

And all with pearl and ruby glowing 

Was the fair palace door, 
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, 

And sparkling evermore, 
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty 

Was but to sing, 
In voices of surpassing beauty. 

The wit and wisdom of their king. 

But evil things, in robes of sorrow. 

Assailed the monarch's high estate; 

(Ah, let us mourn ! — for never morrow 
Shall dawn upon him desolate !) 

And round about his home, the glory 
That blushed and bloomed 

Is but a dim-remembered story 
' Of the old time entombed. 

And travellers, now, within that valley, 

Through the red-litten windows see 
Vast forms, that move fantastically 

To a discordant melody; 
. While, like a ghastly rapid river, 

Through the pale door 
A hideous throng rush out forever. 

And laugh — but smile no more. 



Poetical Works of Page 

EDGAR ALLAN POE Ninely-nine 



'Twas noontide of summer, 

And mid-time of night; 
And stars, in their orbits, 

Shone pale, through the light 
Of the brighter, cold moon, 

'Mid Planets her slaves. 
Herself in the Heavens, 

Her beam on the waves. 

I gazed awhile 

On her cold smile, 
Too cold — too cold for me ; 

There passed, as a shroud, 

A fleecy cloud. 
And I turned away to thee, 

Proud Evening Star, 

In thy glory afar, 
And dearer thy beam shall be ; 

For joy to my heart 

Is the proud part 
Thou bearest in Heaven at night. 

And more I admire 

Thy distant fire 
Than that colder, lowly light. 



«6) 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred EDGAR ALLAN POE 



Culalie 

I dwelt alone 
In a world of moan, 
And my soul was_a stagnant tide, 
Till the fair and/'^entle^ Eulahfe-~became my blushing 

brid^- ^, 

Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie becahie my smiling 

Ah, less^le^ bright 
The star^ dS the night 
'han the^^yes o€ tKe radiant ^irfl/ • 

And never a mtkc .^'^ .^' ' 
'. That, the vapor cab..tok^e 
(With the . moon- tin J»fOt purple and pearl < 

Can(vie with the modeit'^ulalie's most unregarded^ curl, 
Can Compare with ttie bright-^yed Eulalie's most hiimble 
and /ateless curlNv 

Now'~DX)upt — now Pain 
Come never again, 
For her soul gives me sigh for sigh ; 
And all day long . ' 

Shines, bright and strong, 
Astarte within the sky. 
While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye, — 
While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye. 



Poetical Works of Page 

EDCAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and One 



Cfte Sleeper 

At midnight, in the month of June, 
I stand beneath the mystic moon. 
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim, 
Exhales from out her golden rim, 
And, softly dripping*. dtQp by drop, 
Upon the quiet mountain-^top,..,^ 
Steals drowsily and musically V, 
Intathev universal valley, ^x 

T\fe rosemary ^ods upon^ the grave ; ] 
'ptie lily loll^\ upon the wave ; 
/'AA/^rapping the fog about its breaSt^ 
/ The ruin mout4ei^ into rest>- \,/ 
( Looking like Le^he^; seeT "tfip-^lake j 

! A conscious slumber^ Se«ffis to take, 
/ And would not, .foj- t^e world, awake. 
\ All Beauty slet^'s'l — 'And Lo ! where lies 
\(Her casement open to the skies) ' 

trene, with .her Destinies! 
Oh; lady' bright ! can it be right, — 
This window open to the night?- — 
The wanton airs, from the tree-top. 
Laughingly through the lattice drop, — 
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout. 
Flit through thy chamber in and out, 
And wave the curtain canopy 
So fitfully — so fearfully — 
Above the closed and fringed lid 
'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid, 
That, o'er the floor and down the wall. 
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall! 



Page Poetical ]VoTk» of 

One Hundred and Ti»o EDCAR ALLAN POE 

Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear? 
Why and what art thou dreaming here? 
Sure thou art come o'er far-off seas, 
A wonder to these garden trees! 
Strange is thy pallor ! strange thy dress ! 
Strange, above all, thy length of tress, 
And this all solemn silentness ! 

The lady sleeps. Oh, may her sleep, 
Which is enduring, so be deep ! 
Heaven have her in its sacred keep! 
This chamber changed for one more holy, 
This bed for one more melancholy, 
I pray to God that she may lie 
Forever with unopened eye, 
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by. 

My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep, 
As it is lasting, so be deep! 
(Soft may the worms about her creep!) 
Far in the forest, dim and old, 
For her may some tall vault unfold, — 
Some vault that oft hath flung its black 
And winged panels fluttering back, 
Triumphant, o'er the crested palls 
Of her grand family funerals: 
Some sepulchre, remote, alone. 
Against whose portal she hath thrown. 
In childhood, many an idle stone, — 
Some tomb from out whose sounding door 
She ne'er shall force an echo more. 
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin! 
It was the dead who groaned within. 



Poetical Works of Page 

EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Three 



Co 



I saw thee on thy bridal day, 

When a burning blush came o'er thee, 
Though happiness around thee lay, 

The world all love before thee; 

And in thine eye a kindling light 

(Whatever it might be) 
Was all on Earth my aching sight 

Of loveliness could see. 

That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame: 

As such it well may pass, 
Though its glow hath raised a fiercer flame 

In the breast of him, alas ! 

Who saw thee on that bridal day. 

When that deep blush would come o'er thee 
Though happiness around thee lay. 

The world all love before thee. 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Four EDGAR ALLAN POE 



Cf)e IPallep of Onteist 

Once it smiled a silent dell 
Where the people did not dwell; 
They had ^one...uiito . the wars, 
Trusting, to the mild-eyed^^ars, 
Nightly,! from their azure tov\hers, 
Jo ke^p watch aboye'the flowere^,^ 
In the tnid^ of which all day 
The red sunlight lazily lay. 
Norv each yisitor shall confess- 
The sad valley\ restlessness!. 



Nothing theresia motionless, 

Nothing save th^^/dtr^" that brood \ 

Over the ma^c solitude. . ' 

Ah, by noviind are^ stirred those trees 

That pa)t);tate like t|lt chill seas 

Around -the misty H^bjri^s! 

Ah, 'by no wind those clouds are driven 

That rustle through the unquii&t-Hleaven 

Uneasily, from morn till evW, 

Over the violets there that lie 

In myriad typeis-pf the human eye, — 

Over the lilies there that wave 

And weep above a nameless grave ! 

They wave : — from out their fragrant tops 

Eternal dews come down in drops. 

They weep : — from off their delicate stems 

Perennial tears descend in gems. 



Poetical IVorks of ^<'8« 

EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Five 



Cfte Conquetot itaorm 

Lo! 't is a gala night 

Within the lonesome latter years! 
An angel throU"^ be^Vtliged, bedight 

In veils/ and drowned in^^iws, 
Sit in a tjjeatre, to see N^.,^^ 

yA"play 61 hope^ and fears, \ 

yVhile thfe^rbhestra breathes fitfullv/ 

The mus^ oft the spheres. /v--" --^ 

Mimes^ln thdsiol?^ of Go^^oii^liAgh, 

Mutter and ttuirnbltf^'lpw,' 
And hither and th^het fly, — 

Mere puppet^h^y, who come^ajid go { 
At bidding of^ast fbirnless things 
\^ That sh^/the scen^y tp and fro, 
"'^lapping/'Vom out theiKifbridor wing^ 
'^Inyisrbl^e Woe! , 

That mo%y drama — oh, be siyre 

It shall hot.be forgot! / 

With its Phantom>>Qhase(i„for evermore 

By a crowd that seize it not, 
Through a circle that ever returneth in 

To the self-same spot; 
And much of Madness, and more of Sin, 

And Horror the soul of the plot. 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Six EDCAR ALLAN POE 

But see, amid the mimic rout 

A crawling shape intrude! 
A blood-red thing that writhes from out 

The scenic solitude! 
It writhes! — it writhes! — with mortal pangs 

The mimes become its food, 
And the Angels sob at vermin fangs 

In human gore imbrued. 

Out — out ate the lights — out all! 

And, over each quivering form, 
The curtain, a funeral pall. 

Comes down with the rush of a storm. 
While the angels, all pallid and wan. 

Uprising, unveiling, affirm 
That the play is the tragedy, *'Man," 

And its hero, the Conquerpr Worm. 



Poetical Worki of ^fl«« 

EDCAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Seven 



Dream^LanD 

By a route obscure and lonely, 
Haunted by ill angels only, 
Where an Eidolon, named Night, 
On a black throne reigns upright, 
I have reached these lands but newly 
From an ultimate dim Thule : 
From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime. 
Out of Space — out of Time. 

Bottomless vales and boundless floods, 
And chasms and caves ahd Titan woods, 
With forms that no man can discover 
For the dews that drip all over; 
Mountains toppling evermore 
Into seas without a shore; 
Seas that restlessly aspire, 
Surging, unto skies of fire; 
Lakes that endlessly outspread 
Their lone^ waters, lone and dead, — 
Their still waters, still and chilly 
With the snows of the lolling lily. 

By the lakes that thus outspread 
Their lone waters, lone and dead, — 
Their sad waters, sad and chilly 
With the snows of the lolling lily; 
By the mountains — near the river 
Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever; 
By the gray woods, by the swamp 
Where the toad and newt encamp ; 



Page Poetical IVorki of 

One Hundred and Eight EDGAR ALLAN POE 

By the dismal tarns and pools 

Where dwell the Ghouls; 
By each spot the most unholy, 
In each nook most melancholy, — 
There the traveller meets aghast 
Sheeted Memories of Nthe Past: 
Shroudefd forms that start and sigh 
As they bass the wanderer by,^v 
.White-robed forms of 'friends long^given, 
/ In agortj^ toahe Earth — and Heaven. 

For the h^rt\whose woes ar^. l^^gi^^n 
'Tis a peaceiul^N^oothingjc^egipri; ■ 

^ For the spirir^at y^k^Ati shadow ' 

) 'Tis — oh, 'tis an^ldotado ! 

But the trav^Jfer, travelling thrxjugh it, / 

V May not -7^'ji^e li^t openly view it ; ( 

\^ Never it/^mysteriesXare exposed J 

X To the.Xy^feak human ^e unclosed; / 

^^^wilis its King, who hath Corbid / 

The up^lifting of the fringedjid; ^' 

And thijs the sad Soul that hijre passes 

Beholds iVlHit through darkened glasses. 

By a route obscure and -lonely, 
Haunted by ill angels only, 
Where an Eidolon, named Night, 
On a black throne reigns upright, 
I have wandered home but newly 
From this ultimate dim Thule. 



Poetical Wor^s of p^g^ 

EDCAR ALLAN POE One Hundrtd and Nine 



Selections from ai aataaf 

'"Neath blue-bell or streamer, 
Or tufted wild spray 
That keepsj^ h-om the dreamer, 

The^/inoohb'eam^-a^vay, 
Bright beings! that ponder, 
With half closing eyes, 
'XXri the ^tars which ' your wondv 
liilth "idrawn from the skies, 
^ Till the5^^ gll^pce through the sh^e, and 
Z' Com^ d^wn to your bro^'^"' 

Like — eyes 6| the maiden ^'^ 
Who c^Hs .on yoiJi no^, — 
Arise from youl;. dreartiing 
In violet -bowers 
'» To duty be&eeming 

\ The^e star-litten hours ! 

\ And sja'^ke from yd^rtiresses, 
\ ^pfcumbered wit:h^.,dew, 

" The breath of those kisses 

iThat cumber them too— '" 
(Oh, "^^ow, without you, !Love ! 
Could ^g^ls be blest? — )/ 
Those kisses "bf^ true Ipye 

That lulled ye to rest! 
Up! shake from your wing 
Each hindering thing! 
The dew of the night. 

It would weigh down your flight; 
And true love caresses, 

Oh, leave them apart. 
They are light on the tresses. 
But lead on the heart. 



Pagt Poetical Work* of 

One Hundred and Ten EDGAR ALLAN POE 

"Ligeia! Ligeia! 

My beautiful one! 
Whose harshest idea 

Will to melody run, 
Oh, is it thy will 

On the breezes to toas? 
Or, capriciously still, 

Like the lone Albatross, 
Incumbent on night 

(As she on the air) 
To keep watch with delight 

On the , harmony there? 

"Legeia! wherever 

Thy image may be, 
No magic shall sever 

Thy music from thee. 
Thou hast bound many eyes 

In a dreamy sleep, 
But the strains still arise 

Which thy vigilance keep: 
The sound of the rain, 

Which leaps down tp the flower, 
And dances again 

In the rhythm of the shower; 
The murmur that springs 

From the growing of grass, 
Are the music of things, 

But are modelled, alas! 
Away, then, my dearest, 

Oh, hie thee away 
To springs that lie clearest 

Beneath the moon-ray, — 



Poetical Works of Pagt 

EDGAR ALLAN FOE One Hundred and El^en 

To lone lake that smiles, 

In its dream of deep rest, 
At the many star-isles 

That enjcwel its breast! 
Where wild flowers, creeping. 

Have mingled their shade, 
On its margin is sleeping 

Full many a maid; 
Some have left the cool glade, and 

Have slept with the bee; 
Arouse them, my maiden, 

On moorland and lea! 
Go! breathe on their slumber, 

All softly in ear, 
The musical number 

They slumbered to hear: 
For what can awaken 

An angel so soon. 
Whose sleep hath been taken 

Beneath the cold moon. 
As the spell which no slumber 

Of witchery may test, — 
The rhythmical number 

Which lulled him to rest? 

What guilty spirit,, in what shrubbery dim, 
Heard not the stirring summons of that hymn? 
But two; they fell; for Heaven no grace imparts 
To those who hear not for their beating hearts 
A maiden angel and her seraph-lover. 
Oh, where (and ye may seek the wide skies over) 
Was Love, the blind, near sober Duty known? 
Unguided Love hath fallen 'mid "tears of perfect 
moan." 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Tv>ehe EDGAR ALLAN POE 



Spirit of tfte DeaD 

Thy soul shall find itself alone 

'Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone ; 

Not one, of all the crowd, to pry 

Into thine hour of secrecy. 

Be silent id that solitude,-. 

Whi<ih is not loneliness — for then 
The, spirits of the dead, who sto6d^ 

In l^fe Ijefore thee, are again 
In death ^oiii^d thee, and their will 
Shall oversl;iad0w thee; be stiljUO ■ 

The night, t^ugh clea;v-^?i^^^rown, 

And the stars sim^ l0o^n(5t: down 

From their high tfirones in the Heaven / 

With light lilte ilope to mortals given, 

But their r^cj-'orbs, ^ithout beam, 

To thy w-^sfriness shaij "seem 

As a burning and a fever , 

Which V^ould chug to thee forever. 

Now are thoughts thou shalt not" banish. 

Now are visions ne'er to vanish; 

From thy spirit shall they pass 

No more, like dewdrops from the grass. 

The breeze, the breath of God, is still, 
And the mist upon the hill 
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken. 
Is a sjmibol and a token. 
How it hangs upon the trees, 
A mystery of mysteries! 



Poetical Works of Page 

EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Thirteen 



Cfte T5ell0 



Hear the sledges with the bells, 
Silver bells! 
What a world of meiriment-their melody foretells ! 
How they/tinkle, tinkler-tinkle. 

In th^ icy air of night! 
WjiiJLe jthe"^ stars, that oversprinkle ,, 
Mn the heavens, seem to twinkle 
/ With> cr*ystalline delight; 
Keeping tirfte, ^ime, time. 
In a sort of I^urnc rhyme, ^,^y' 
T0 the tintinnabulatilan that .^st) musically wells 
\ From the bells, bejlJs,^. bells, bells, 
i Bells, bells, bells — ^ 

From the jingling ahd^th6 tinkling of the bells ( 

// ^\ V, 

Hear the mellow ' wedding^ b^ls. 

Golden bells! \^ ^ 

What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! 
Through the balmy air of night 
How they ring out their delight! 
From the molten-golden notes. 
And all in tune. 
What a liquid ditty floats 
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats 
On the moon! 



Page Poetical Work* of 

One Hundred and Fourteen EDGAR ALLAN POE 

Oh, from out the sounding cells, 

What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! 

How it swells! 

How it dwells 

On the Future! how it tells 

Of the rapture that impels 

To the swinging and the ringing 

Of the bells, bells, bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells — 
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells ! 

in 

Hear the loud alarum bells, 
Brazen bells! 
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ! 
In the startled ear of night 
How they scream out their affright! 
Too much horrified to speak. 
They can only shriek, shriek, shrjek. 
Out of tune. 
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, 
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, 
Leaping higher, higher, higher. 
With a desperate desire. 
And a resolute endeavor 
Now; — now to sit, or never, 
By the side of the pale-faced moon. 
Oh, the bells, bells, bells! 
What a tale their terror tells 
Of Despair! 



Poetical IVorki of Page 

EDCAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Fifteen 

How they clang, and clash, and roar! 
What a horror they outpour 
On the bosom of the palpitating air! 
Yet the ear, it fully knows, 
By the twangi^ig 
And the clanging, 
How the danger ebbs and flows; 
Yet the ear distinctly tells, 
In the jangling 
And the wrangling. 
How the danger sinks and swells, — 
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells. 
Of the bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells. 
Bells, bells, bells — 
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells! 

IV 

Hear the tolling of the bells. 
Iron bells! 
What a world of solemn thought their monody 
compels ! 
In the silence of the night 
How we shiver with affright 
At the melancholy menace of their tone ! 
For every sound that floats 
From the rust within their throats 

Is a groan. 
And the people — ah, the people. 
They that dwell up in the steeple, - 
All alone. 



<9) 



Page Poetical IVorki of 

One Hundred and Sixteen EDGAR ALLAN POE 

And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, 
In that muffled monotone. 
Feel a glory in so rolling 
On the human heart a stone — 
They are neither man nor woman. 
They are neither brute nor human, 
They are Ghouls: 
And their king it is who tolls; 
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, 

Rolls 
A paean from the bells; 
AncJ hi§ merry bosom swells 
With th^ paean of the bells, 
And he dances, and he yells : 
Keeping time, time time. 
In a sort of Runic rhyme, 
To the paean of the bells. 

Of the bells: 
Keeping time, time, time. 
In a sort of Runic rhyme. 
To the throbbing of the bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells — 
To the sobbing of the bells; 
Keeping time, time, time. 
As he knells, knells, knells. 
In a happy Runic, rhyme. 
To the rolling of the bells. 
Of the bells, bells, bells: 
To the tolling of the bells. 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells. 
Bells, bells, bells — 
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. 



Poetical Works of p^ge 

EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Se)>enteen 



IBtiDal TBallaQ 

The ring is on my hand. 

And the wreath is on my brow; 

Satins and jewels grand 

Are all at my command. 
And I am happy now. 

And my lord he loves me well; 

But, when first he breathed his vow, 

I felt my bosom swell, 
For the words rang as a knell, 
And the voice seemed his who fell 
In the battle down the dell, 

And who is happy now. 

But he spoke to reassure me. 

And he kissed my pallid brow. 
While a revery came o'er me. 
And to the church-yard bore me, 
And I sighed to him before me. 
Thinking him dead D'Elormie, 
'*0h, I am happy now!" 

And thus the words' were spoken, 
And this the plighted vow; 

And though my faith be broken. 

And though my heart be broken, 

Behold the golden token 

That proves me happy now! 

Would God I could awaken! 

For I dream I know not how. 
And my soul is sorely shaken 
Lest an evil step be taken, 
Lesft the dead who is forsaken 

May not be happy now. 



p^g^ ^ Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Eighteen EDGAR ALLAN POE 



jFor annie 

Thank Heaven! the crisis— 
The danger is past, 

And the Hngering illness 
Is over at last, 

And the fever called "Living" 
Is conquered at last. 

Sadly, I know 

I am shorn of my strength, 
And no muscle I move 

As I lie at full length: 
But no matter! — I feel 

I am better at length. 

And I rest so composedly 

Now, in my bed. 
That any beholder 

Might fancy me dead, 
Might start at beholding me, 

Thinking me dead. 

The moaning and groaning, 

The sighing and sobbing. 
Are quieted now. 
With that horrible throbbing 
At heart : — ah, that horrible, 

Horrible throbbing! 
The sickness, the nausea. 

The pitiless pain. 
Have ceased, with the fever 

That maddened my brain. 
With the fever called "Living' 

That burned in my brain. 



Poetical Works of p^ge 

EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Nineteen 

And oh! of all tortures. 

That torture the worst 
Has abated — the terrible 

Torture of thirst 
For the napthaline river 

Of Passion accurst: 
I have drunk of a water 

That quenches all thirst: 

Of a water that flows, 

With a lullaby sound, 
From a spring but a very few 

Feet under ground, 
From a cavern not very far 

Down under ground. 

And ah! let it never 

Be foolishly said 
That my room it is gloomy, 

And narrow my bed; 
For man never slept 

In a different bed: 
And, to sleep, you must slumber 

In just such a bed. 

My tantalized spirit 

Here blandly reposes. 
Forgetting, or never 

Regretting, its roses: 
Its old agitations 

Of myrtles and roses; 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Tt,eniy EDGAR ALLAN POE 

For now, while so quietly 

Lying, it fancies 
A holier odor 

About it, of pansies: 
A rosemary odor, 

Commingled with pansies, 
With rue and the beautiful 

puritan pansies. 

And >so it Kes| happily, 
; Bathing in many 

A dream of the truth 
And the beauty of Annie, 
Drowned in a bath ., 
I Of the tresses of Annie. 

She tenderly kissed me, 

She fondly caressed. 
And then I fell gently 

To sleep on her breast, 
Deeply to sleep 

From the heaven of her breast. 

When the light was extinguished, 

She covered me warm. 
And she prayed to the angels 

To keep me from harm. 
To the queen of the angels 

To shield me from harm. 



Poetical Works of Page 

EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Tr»enl\f-one 

And I lie so composedly 

Now, in my bed, 
(Knowing her love) 

That you fancy me dead; 
And I rest so contentedly 

Now, in my bed, 
(With her love at my breast) 

That you fancy me dead — 
That you shudder to look at me, 

Thinking me dead. 

But my heart it is brighter 

Thah, all of the many 
Stars in the skyi 

For it sparkles with Annie: 
It glows AVith the light 

Of the love of my Annie, 
With the thought of the light 

Of the eyes of ixjy 'Annie. 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Tj»enly-tv>o EDCAR ALLAN POE 



Co ffl)ne in paraDi0e 

Thou wast that all to me, love, 
For which my soul did pine: 

A green isle in the sea, love, 
A fountain and a shrine 

All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, 
And all the flowers were mine. 

Ah, dream too bright to last! .. 

Ah, starry Hope, that didsf arise 
But to be overcast ! 

A voice from out the Future cries, 
"On! on!" but o'er the Past 

(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies 
Mute, motionless, aghast! 

For, alas! alas! with me 

The light of Life is o'er! 
"No more — no more — no more — " 
(Such language holds the solemn sea 

To the sands upon the shore) 
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, 

Or the stricken eagle soar! 

And all my days are trances, 

And all my nightly dreams 
Are where thy dark eye glances. 

And where thy footstep gleams — 
In what ethereal dances. 

By what eternal streams. 



Poetical Works of Page 

EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Tvieniyf -three 



Olalume 

The skies they were ashen and sober; 

The leaves they were crisped and sere, 

The leaves they were withering and sere; 
It was night in the lonesome October 

Of my most immemorial year; 
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, 

In the misty mid region of Weir: 
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, 

In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. 

Here once, through an alley Titanic 

Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul — 
Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. 

These were days when my heart was volcaniq 
As the scoriae rivers that roll, 
As the lavas that restlessly roll 

Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek 
In the ultimate climes of the pole, 

That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek 
In the realms of the boreal pole. 

Our talk had been serious and sober, 

But our thoughts they were palsied and sere, 
Our memories were treacherous and sere. 

For we knew not the month was October, 

And we marked not the night of the year, 
(Ah, night of all nights in the year !) ; 

We noted not the dim lake of Auber 

(Though once we had journeyed down here), 

Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber 

Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and T-a>eniy-four EDGAR ALLAN POE 

And now, as the night was senescent 

And star-dials pointed to morn, 

As the star-dials hinted of morn, 
At the end of our path a liquescent 

And nebulous lustre was born, 
Out of which a miraculous crescent 

Arose with a duplicate horn, 
Astarte's bediamonded crescent 

Distinct with its duplicate horn. 
And I said— "She is warmer than Dian: 

She rolls through an ether of sighs. 

She irevels\in ia region of sighs: 

She has seen thaf ^the tears Ate not dry on 
These cheeks, where the worm never dies. 

And has come past the stars of the Lion ' 
To point us the path to the skies. 
To the Lethean peace of the skies: 

Come up, in despite of the Lion, 

To shine on us with her bright eyes : 

Come up through the lair of the Lion, 
With love in her luminous eyes." 

But Psyche, uplifting her finger, 

Said — "Sadly this star I mistrust. 
Her pallor I strangely mistrust: 

Oh, hasten! — oh, let us not linger! 

Oh, fly! — let us fly! — for we must." 

In terror she spoke, letting sink her 

Wings until they trailed in the dust; 

In agony sobbed, letting sink her 

Plumes till they trailed in the dust. 
Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. 



Poetical IVor^s of Page 

EDCAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Tt>eni)f-fi»e 

I replied — "This is nothing but dreaming: 
Let us on by this tremulous light! 
Let us bathe in this crystalline light! 

Its Sibyllic splendor is beaming 

With Hope and in Beauty to-night: 
See, it flickers up the sky through the night! 

Ah, we safely niay trust to its gleaming, 
And be sute it will lead us aright: 

We safely may' trust to a gleaming 
That cannpt but guide us aright, 
Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night." 

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, 
And tempted her out of her gloom. 
And conquered her scruples and gloom; 

And we passed to the end of the vista, 

But were stopped by the door of a tomb, 
. By the door of a legended tomb; 

And I said — "What is written, sweet sister, 
On the door of this legended tomb?" 

She replied — "Ulalume — Ulalume — 
'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!" 



Page Poetical IVorks of 

One Hundred and Ti»enl]f'six EDGAR ALLAN POE 

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober 
As the leaves that were crisped and sere, 
As the leaves that were withering and sere. 

And I cried — "It was surely October 
On this very night of last year 
That I journeyed — I journeyed down here, 
That I brought a dread burden down here : 
On this night of all nights in the year, 
Ah, what demon has tempted me here? 

Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber, 
This misty mid region of Weir: 

Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, 
This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir." 



Co Science 

A PROLOGUE TO "AL AARAAF" 

Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art. 

Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes. 
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet*s heart, 

Vulture, whose wings are dull realities? 
How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise. 

Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering 
To seek for treasure in the jeweled skies. 

Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing? 
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car, 

And driven the Hamadryad from the wood 
To seek a shelter in some happier star? 

Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood. 
The Elfin from the green grass, and from me 
The summer dream beneath the tamarind-tree? 



Poetical Worlds of Page 

EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Ti»eniyseven 



OBIDoraDo 

Gayly bedight, 

A gallant knight, 
In sunshine and in shadow, 

Had journeyed long. 

Singing a song, 
In search of Eldorado. 

But he grew old, — 

This knight so bold, 
And o'er his heart a shadow 

Fell as he found 

No spot of ground 
That looked like Eldorado. 

And, as his strength 
Failed him at length, 
He met a pilgrim shadow: 
"Shadow," said he, 
"Where can it be— 
This land of Eldorado?" 

"Over the Mountains 
Of the Moon, 
Down the Valley of the Shadow, 
Ride, boldly ride," 
The shade replied, 
"If you seek for Eldorado!" 



Page Poetical Worlfs of 

One Hundred and Trvenijf-eight EDGAR ALLAN POE 



Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak 

and weary. 
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten 

lore, — 
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came 

a tapping, n.,^^ 

As of some one gently rapping, rapping kt my chamber 

door." 

" 'Tis some visitor," I ijiuttered, ''tapping at my chamber 

door: , '^ ' 

Only this and nothing more." 

Ah, ; distinctly I f emember |t \yas in tfte bleak December, 
And' each separate dying enjbef wrought its ghost upon 

the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow ; — vainly I had sought 

to borrow 
From my books siurcease of sorrew-^-sorrow for the lost 

Lenore, ' ; \ \ \\. 

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 

Lenore : 

Nameless here for evermore. 

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple 

curtain 
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt 

before ; 
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood 

repeating 



Poetical IVorlfs of Page 

EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Ttoeniy-nine 

" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber 

door, 
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber 

door : 

This it is and nothing more." 

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no 
longer, -^*h^ 

*■ 'Sir," said I, ''or Ma^am, truly youf forgiveness I im- 
plore ; 

But the fact is I was napping, and sp gently you came 
rappilig, 

And so faintly you canae tapping, tapping at my chamber 
dpdr, V 

That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened 
wide the door: — 

Darkness there and nothing more. 



Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there 

wondering, fearing, \ 

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to 

dream before; 
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no 

token. 
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, 

"Lenore !" 
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, 

"Lenore!" 

Merely this and nothing more. 



Page Poetical IVork* of 

One Hundred and Thirty EDGAR ALLAN POE 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me 

burning, 
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than 

before. 
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window 

lattice ; 
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery 

explore ; 
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore : 
*Tis the wind and nothing more." 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt 
and flutter, 

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of 
yore. 

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped 
or stayed he; 

But, with mien of lord ox lady, perched above my cham- 
ber door. 

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber 
door: 

Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling 
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it 

wore, — 
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, 

"art sure no craven. 
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the 

Nightly shore: 
Tell me what thy lordly name is on. the Night's Plutonian 

shore?" 

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 



Poetical Works of Page 

EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Thiri^-one 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse 
so plainly, 

Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore ; 

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber 
door, 

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his cham- 
ber door, 

With such name as "Nevermore." 

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke 

only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did 

outpour. 
Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he 

fluttered, 
Till I scarcely more than muttered, — "Other friends 

have flown before, — 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown 

before." 

Then the bird said, "Nevermore." 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and 

store, 
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful 

disaster 
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one 

burden bore : 
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore 

Of *Nevcr — nevermore.* " 



(10) 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Thiriy-iivo EDGAR ALLAN POE 

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and 

bust and door; 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of 

yore, 
What this grim, ungginl^^^astly, gaunt, and ominous 

bird of yo;^ 

f Meant in cro^kyig "Nevermore.' 

\ ' ! 

This I ''Sat fenga^ed in ' gikesfeing, but no^j syllable ex- 
pressing '^.^ 'x^ 
To tHe fowl whi^e 'fiery eyes now fauf hed** into my 

bosom's cbret 
This and more I sa\ divining, w^th my head At case 

reclining '"* V / ^^ ■'^ \ 

Onj the cushion's velvejt^itting that the lamplight ^gloated 

[ o'er, Xy \ I 

But whose velvet viblet liniiftg with the lamplight gloat- 
Xing o'er 

5/ie shall press, ah, nevermore! 

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an 

unseen censer 
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted 

floor. 
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these 

angels He hath sent thee 
Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of 

Lenore ! 
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost 

Lenore!" 

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 



Poetical Works of Page 

EDGAR ALLAN POE One Hundred and Thirl^-three 

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird 
or devil! 

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee 
here ashore, 

Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land en- 
chanted — 

On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I 
implore : 

Is there — is there ^alm in Gilead? — teltme — tell me, 

I implore!" ' I ? > 

/ 'Quoth the/ Rkven, "NeVermore." 

/ '" \ y 

"Proph^!" said I, "t^inglof evil — prophe4r>tiH;*if. bird 
/or devil! ^^ \ \ ^y \ 

By tl^at Heaven that bends above tis,"!:^ that Godjwe 
\both adore, — \\ 

Tell talis soul with sorrow laden if, within the disfant 
\Aidenn, >"^*^ ^^ / 

.clasp a sain^ted maideli^ whom the angels i^ame 

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 
Lenore !" '^^^^^ 

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 

"Be that word our sign of parting, Ijflrd or fiend!" I 
shrieked upstarting:' 

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Pluton- 
ian shore! 



Page 
One Hundred and Thirly-five 



iattt^ ^abrtfl Eoas^ttt 



DANTE GABRIEL RQSSETXL was born on the 12th of 
May, 1828, at N6r"38"*'tirarloift^^reet, Portland Place, 
London. In blood he was three- fourtliKjtalian, and only 
one-fourth English, — being on . the fatheKg,^ side wholly 
Italian (Abru5?««e-L andv,on the mothefs $ide half itlfclian (Trus- 
can), and hjflf Englwh, ^'Die means ^f the family were always 
strictly moderate, and Ik 1^ Dantie Gaoriel left J^g's College 
School, ■v^re he had, leabnecfi Latin, French, and'^'tyegmTfing of 
Greek ;jlie then entered upton \he study of th^^.-'^yof painting, to 
which lie had from earliesk cMdhoodjsJcMBjjbro a very mafked 
bent, pfter a while "he was ahdimtted^o^tke school of the I%)yal 
Acader^. In 1848 Rossetti co-oofpfttcfn with two of his felfow- 
student! in painting— ^John Ej^i^fett Millais and^ William Holman 
and with' the, scul^^J*<5);*^h6imas Woolner, in 'forminf the 
btherhoq^^ In the spring of |1860 
Eleanor ^dcTjfcL Their marrioa life 
she die4 in tn^^Na;i_oilth of Februa*^, 1862. 
of the ^Pra^rapha^rh^BrotherJj?ood, with 
friends,\ bought ou\ al^horflived mag- 
(afterwards 'Art cmd Poetry'). Here 
published by Rossetii, including 'The 



lite 



Hunt,- 

so-callek Praeraphae 
Rossetti flaarried Eliza 
was of shon;^ duration 

"In 1850 
the co-operation ot s 
azine named 'The G 
appeared the first pr 



me 



Blessed Damosel'. 

"Rossetti had contemplated l3hk]^ng.-oiTfr in or about 1862, a 
volume of original poems ; but in the grief and dismay which 
overwhelmed him in losing his wife, he determined to sacrifice 
to her memory this long-cherished project, and he buried in her 
coffin the manuscript which would have furnished forth this 
volume. With the lapse of years he came to see that as a final 
settlement of the matter this was neither obligatory nor desir- 
able; so in 1869 the manuscripts were disinterred, and in 1870 
his volume, named 'Poems', was issued. For some considerable 
time this work was hailed with general and lofty praise, checkered 
only by moderate stricture or rl-^-i--- but in 1871 Mr. Robert 



Page 

One Hundred and Thiriy-six 

Buchanan published under a pseudonym, in the 'Contemporary 
Review', a very hostile article named 'The Fleshly School of 
Poetry', attacking the poems on literary, and more especially, on 
moral grounds. The assault produced on Rossetti an effect 
altogether disproportionate to its intrinsic importance. Unfortun- 
ately there was in him already only too much of the morbid 
material on which this venom of detraction was to work. 

'Tor some years the state of his eyesight had given very grave 
cause for apprehension, he himself fancying from time to time 
that the evil might »end in absolute blindness. From this or 
other causes, insomnia had ensued, coped with by too free a 
use of chloral, which may have begun near the end of 1869. 
In the summer of 1872 he had a dangerous crisis of illness; 
and from that time forward, but more especially from the middle 
of 1^4, he became secluded in his habits of life, and often de- 
pressed, fanciful, and gloomy. Not indeed that there wete no 
intervals of serenity, even of brightness; for in fact he was often 
geniaj and pleasant, and a most agreeable companion, wjith as 
mucb 'bonhomie' as acuten^^s for whiling an evening away. 

Tb speak of Rossetti's poems, which perhaps appesil to a 
special' and limited assembly, it is not astonishing to note that 
'The Blessed Damozef, — with its visionary theme of imagery — 
was written at the age of eighteen; because the poem was the 
work of a painter, who detailed as minutely as did Dante and his 
contemporaries, the music of his verse. 

"The second of his original volumes, 'Ballads and Sonnets,' 
was published in the autumn of 1881. About the same time he 
retired to the Vale of St. John, near Keswick, Cumberland, for 
change of air and scene; but he returned to town shattered in 
health and mental tone. He died on Easter Sunday, April 9, 1882, 
and lies buried in the churchyard of Birchington." 



The above short sketch, which is found in the American 
edition of Dante Gabriel Rossetti's works, is taken from an article 
published in London in 1886 by William M. Rossetti, and it is 
in this article that reference is made to the strong influence, 
the writings of Coleridge and Poe, had on the mind of Rossetti. 



Poetical Works of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Thiri^-seven 



Suaoen Usbt 

I have been here before, 

But when or how I cannot tell: 
I know the grass beyond the door, 

The sweet keen smell, 
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. 

You have been mine before, — 

How long ago I may not know : 

But just when at that swallow's soar 
Your neck turned so, 

Some veil did fall, — I knew it all of yore. 

Has this bedn thus before? 

And shall not thus time's eddying flight 
Still with our lives our love restore 

In death's despite, 
And day and night yield one delight once more? 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Thirty-eight DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 



The blessed damozel leaned out 

From the gold bar of Heaven; 
Her eyes \^ere-^e£peF, than the depth 

Of w^ers stilled at 
She had ihree lilies in her hai 
,. —Aod tiiie starX in\ heir l^air wer'&^seven. 

Her robe/Singirt from /clasp to he|ji! 

No wrought flowers did a^^rn 
But a white ispsW of Mary's ,gif|^''^ 

For servic^meetly 'wQrrt'; 
Her hair that lay^ong-^Iier back 
Was yellow li^** T-ipe corn. 

Herseemed sne scarce .had been a day J 
One ,6/ God's chorj:,stets ; f 

"The wpA^er, w;as hot yet^uite gone 
"'fi'rom thali still look ot-^^^Ks^]^^ 

Albeit, ^ them shie left, herviay 
Had^Sjp^nted as ten yeari. 

(To one, it is ten ^ars'm years. 

. . . Yet now, and in this place, 
Surely she leaned o'er me — her hair 

Fell all about my face. . . . 
Nothing: the autumn fall of leaves. 

The whole year sets apace.) 



Poetical JVorl^s of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Thirt\,-mne 

It was the rampart of God's house 
That she was standing on ; — 

By God built over the sheer depth 
The which is Space begun ; 

So high, that looking downward thence 
She scarce could see the sun. 

It lies in H^^ven, across tng^i^ood 

Of eth^, as a bridge. 
Benea4ii^.th^, tides of day land night'' 
/ With^'^^arrti^ and. darkness ridge 
Xhe void, a^sloXas where- this earth 
.y Spins Uka a Iretful midge. 



. '.But it\ those fligc^s, wijja.41^1*^ was 

The peace ofhiiteE'^'ngirt 
And silence. For pBi- Breeze may stir 

Along the^^tfJiSady flight 
Of seraphim/^o echcKjthere, 

Beyoncyarll depth "ih height, 

Ar&un<i.KQ*", lovers, newly nT^f\ 
'Mid deathless fove's acclainiv- 

Spoke evermore among them^lves 
Their 1i^.art-remembered n^mes; 

And the souls rrTOunting up tqCiod 
Went by her li^feethiti flames. 

And still she bov^ed herself and stooped 

Out of the circling charm; 
Until her bosom must have made 

The bar she leaned on warm. 
And the lilies lay as if asleep 

Along her bended arm. 

(.\Thi8 stanza is not in the later editions). 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Fori)) DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTl 

From the fixed place of Heaven she saw 
Time like a pulse shake fierce 

Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove 
Within the gulf to pierce 

Its path; and now she spoke as when 
The stars sang in their spheres. 

The sun was gone now. The curled moon 

Was like a little feather 
Fluttering far down the gulf; and nqW 

She spoke through the still weather. 
Her voice was like the voice the stars 

Had when they sang together. 

(Ah sweet! Even iiow, iti'^that bird's song, 
Strove not, her accents there, 

Fain to be hearkened? When those bells 
Possessed the mid-day air. 

Strove not her steps to reach my side 
Down all the echoing. kair?) 

"I wish that he were come to me. 

For he will come," she said. 
"Have I not prayed in Heaven? — on earth. 

Lord, Lord, has he not pray'd? 
Are not two prayers a perfect strength? 

And shall I feel afraid? 

"When round his head the aureole clings. 

And he is clothed in white, 
I'll take his hand and go with him 

To the deep wells of light; 
As unto a stream we will step down. 

And bathe there in God's sight. 



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DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Forl^-one 

"We two will stand beside that shrine, 

Occult, withheld, untrod. 
Whose lamps are stirred continually 

With prayer sent up to God; 
And see our old prayers, granted, melt 

Each like a little cloud. 

"We two will lie i' the shadow of 

That living mystic tree 
Within whose secret growth the Dove 

Is sometimes felt to be, 
While every leaf that His plumes touch 

Saith His Name audibly. 

"And I myself will teach to him — 

I myself, lying so. 
The songs I sing here; which his voice 

Shall pause in, hushed and slow, 
And find some knowledge at each pause. 

Or some new thing to know." 

(Alas ! We two, we two, thou say'st ! 

Yea, one wast thou with me 
That once of old. But shall God lift 

To endless unity 
The soul whose likeness with thy soul 

Was but its love for thee?) 

"We two," she said, "will seek the groves 

Where the lady Mary is. 
With her five handmaidens, whose names 

Are five sweet symphonies: — 
Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, 

Margaret and Rosalys. 



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One Hundred and Forl))-iTvo DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

• 
"Circle wise sit they, with bound locks 

And foreheads garlanded; 
Into the fine cloth, white like flame, 

Weaving the golden thread, 
To fashion the birth-robes for them 
Who are just born, being dead. 

"He shall.fear, tepTy, aiid be dumb. 

Then'^will I lay my cheekv. 
To his, d|id teU\abqut tour love\,^ 
, '""l^t ohce abashed; or weak; N 
And the NdeaK Mother will approve ^ 

My prMc^nd let me speak,. 

/ "HerseK sha'^ b'iing us, h^nd'^ija^ hand, 

To Him rWM yKbna--Qll souls -^ 

Kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered head^ 
I Bowed wU^j'tl^ieir aureoles i / 

And angels Ineetin^ us shall sing 
To their citherns an4 citoles. 

"There will I ask of Chri«^<^the Lcrd'"'^ 
Thus much for him and me : — 

Only to live as once on earth 
With Love, — only to be, 

As then awhile, for ever now 
Together, I and he." 

She gazed, and listened, and then said. 
Less sad of speech than mild; 

"All this is when he comes." She ceased: 
The light thrilled towards her, fill'd 

With angels in strong level flight. 
Her eyes prayed, and she smird. 



Poetical lVor}(s of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Fort},-three 

(I saw her smile.) But soon their path 
Was vague in distant spheres; 

And then she cast her arms along 
The golden barriers, 

And laid her face between her hands, 
And wept. (I heard her tears.) 



Cfte ^ou0e at Life 

LVIII. i~ tRUE WOMAN. 

i: 

e 

i IL — -Her Love, 

She loves him; for her infinite soul is Love, 
i And he her lodestar. Passion in her is 
A glass facing his fire, where the bright blis^ 

Is mirrored, a^d the heat returned. Yet movd 

That glass, a stranger's amorous flame to prove. 
And it shall turn, by instant contraries. 
Ice to the moon; while her pure fire to his 

For whom it burns, clings close i' the heart's alcove. 

Lo ! they are one. With wifely breast to breast 
And circling arms, she welcomes all command 
Of love, — her soul to answering ardours fann'd : 
Yet as morn springs or twilight sinks to rest. 
Ah! who shall say she deems not loveliest 
The hour of sisterly sweet hand-in-hand? 



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3fDftn of Cout0 

(Old French.) 

John of Tours is back with peace, 
But he comes home ill at ease. 

"Good-morrow, mother." "Good-morrow, son; 
Your wife has borne you a little one.'* 

"Go now, mother, go before. 
Make me a bed upon the floor; 

"Very low your foot must fall, 
That my wife hear not at all." 

As it neared the midnight toll, 
John of Tours gave up his soul. 

"Tell me now, my mother my dear. 
What's the crying that I hear?" 

"Daughter, it's the children wake 
Crying with their teeth that ache." 

"Tell me though, my mother my dear. 
What's the knocking that I hear?" 

"Daughter, it's the carpenter 
Mending planks upon the stair." 

"Tell me too, my mother my dear. 
What's the singing that I hear?" 

"Daughter, it's the priests in rows 
Going round about our house." 

"Tell me then, my mother my dear. 
What's the dress that I should wear?" 

"Daughter, any reds or blues, 
But the black is most in use." 



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DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI Om Hundred and Fori^-fnt 

"Nay, but say, my mother my dear, 
Why do you fall weeping here?" 

"Oh I the truth must be said, — 
It's that John of Tours is dead." 

"Mother, let the sexton know 
That the grave must be for two; 

"Aye, and still have room to spare. 
For you must shut the baby there." 



patteo ptefence 

Love, I speak to your heart. 

Your heart that is always here. 
Oh draw me deep to its sphere. 

Though you and I arc apart; 

And yield, by the spirit's art, 

Each distant gift that is dear. 
O love, my love, you are here! 

Your eyes arc afar to-day. 

Yet, love, look now in mine eyes. 
Two hearts sent forth may despise 

All dead things by the way. 

All between is decay. 

Dead hours and this hour that dies, 
O love, look deep in mine eyes! 



Cll) 



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One Hundred and Forlyf-iix DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTl 

Your hands to-day are not here, 

Yet lay them, love, in my hands. 

The hourglass sheds its sands 
All day for the dead hours' bier; 
But now, as two hearts draw near, 

This hour like a flower expands. 

O love, your hands in my hands ! 

Your vpice is not on the air, 

Yet, love, I can hear your voice: 

It bids' 'ipy h^art t0 rejoice 

As khow!ng your heart is there, — 

A music sweet to declare ^/".^ 
The tru^h 6£ your steadfast choice. 
O Jove, hdw llweet is yp«r voice ! 

To-day your lipi are afar. 

Yet draw my lips to them, love. 

Around, beneath, and above. 
Is frost to bind and to bar; 
But where I am and you are. 

Desire and the fire thereof. 

O kiss me, kiss me, my love! 

Your heart is never away. 
But ever with mine, for ever. 
For ever without endeavor. 

To-morrow, love, as to-day; 

Two blent hearts never astray. 
Two souls no power may sever, 
Together, O my love, for ever! 



Poetical Works of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Fort\f-seven 



Cfie J9ou0e of M(t 

XIV. YpUTH^S ANTIPHONy 

"I love you, sweet: liipw can'y</u ,6ver learn 

How pjuch I love you?" "You I love eyjeii so, 

AndrSo I learn it." "Sweet, you cannot ktibw 

How fair you are." "If iair enough to earn 

Your love, so much is'^'^U my love's concern." / 

"My love grows hourly, sweet." "Mine too doth grbw, 

Yet love seemed full so many hours ago !" 

Thus lovers speak, till kisses claim their turn. 
Ah! happy they to whom such words as these 
In youth have served for speech the whole day long. 
Hour after hour, remote from the world's throng, 
Work, contest, fame, all life's confederate pleas, — 
What while Love breathed in sighs and silences 
Through two blent souls one rapturous undersong. 



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One Hundred and Forty-eight DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 



cue %tatt anD ^ctip 

"Who rules these lands?" the Pilgrim said. 

"Stranger, Queen Blanchelys." 
"And who has thus harried them?" he said. 

"It was Duke Luke did this: 
God's ban be his !" 

The Pilgrim said: "Where is your house? 

I'll rest there, with your will." 
"You've but to climb these blackened boughi 

And you'll see it over the hill, 
For it burns still." 

"Which road, to seek your Queen?" said he. 

"Nay, nay, but with some wound 
You'll fly back hither, it may be, 

And by your blood i' the ground 
My place be found." 

"Friend, stay in peace. God keep your head, 

And mine, where I will go; 
For He is here and there," he said. 

He passed the hill-side, slow. 
And stood below. 

The Queen sat idle by her loom : 

She heard the arras stir, 
And looked up sadly: through the room 

The sweetness sickened her 
Of musk and myrrh. 



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DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Fortrnine 

Her women, standing two and two, 

In silence combed the fleece. 
The Pilgrim said, "Peace be with you. 

Lady;" and bent his knees. 
She answered, "Peace." 

Her eyes wei;^ like the wave Within; 

Like water-reeds the poise 
Of her soft body, dainty thin ; 

And like the water's noise 
Her plaintive voice. 

For him, the stream had never wcU'd 

In desert tracts malign 
So sweet; nor had he ever felt 

So faint in the sunshine 
■ Of Palestine. ' 

Right so; he knew that'he «aw weep 

Sach night/through every dream 
The Queen*s own face, conf uscdsjn slec^ 

With visages supreme v 

Not knd^ivn to him. 

"Lady," he said,"**yQur lands Ji^ burnt 

And waste; to meet your foe 
All fear: this I have seen and learnt. 

Say that it shall be so. 
And I will go." 

She gazed at him. "Your cause is just. 

For I have heard the same." 
He said: "God's strength shall be my trust. 

Fall it to good or grame, 
'Tis in His name." 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Fim DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

"Sir, you are thanked. My cause is dead 

Why should you toil to break 
A grave, and fall therein?" she said. 

He did not pause but spake: 
"For my vow's sake." 

"Can such vows be, Str-r- to God's ear, 

Not to Gp^'s will?" "IVfy vow 
Remains: ^od heard me there as here," 

He said with reverent brow, 
"Botli^sjhei!^ and noW." 

They gazed iogether, he and she, 

The minute while he spoke ; 
And when he ceased, she suddenly 

Looked round lifjon her folk 
As though she woke. 

"Fight, Sir," she said: "my prayers in pain 

Shall be your fellowship." 
He whispered one among her train, — 

"To-morrow bid her keep 
This staff atid i^crip." 

She sent liim a sharp sword, whose belt 

About his body there 
As sweet as her own arms he felt. 

He kissed its blade, all bare. 
Instead of her. 

She sent him a green banner wrought 

With one white lily stem. 
To bind his lance with when he fought. 

He writ upon the same 
And kissed her name. 



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DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI , One Hundred and Fift}f-one 

She sent him a white shield^ whereon 

She bade that he should trace 
His will. He blent fair hues that shone, 

And in a golden space 
He kissed her face. 

Born of the d&y that "31^, that eve 

Now dying sank to rest; 
As he, in likewise taking leave, 

Once with ^ heaving breast 
Lookedv^to\he west. 

•And there the sunset skies unseal'd, 

Like lands he never knew, 
Beyond to-morrbw's battle-field 

Lay open out of vlei^ 
To ride into^ 

Next day till^^^k the^women pray'd: 

Nor any might know there 
How the fight went : the Queen has bade 

That there do come to her 
No messenger. 

The Queen is pale, her maidens /ail; 

And to the organ-tones 
They sing but faintly, who sang well 

The matin-orisons. 
The lauds and nones. 

Lo, Father, is thine ear inclined. 

And hath thine angel pass'd? 
For these thy watchers now are blind 

With vigil, and at last 
Diizy with fast. 



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One Hundred and Finrir^o DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

Weak now to them the voice o* the priest 

As any trance affords; 
And when each anthem failed and ceas'd, 

It seemed that the last chords 
Still sang the words. 

"Oh what is theligfit that shines so red? 

'Tis long since the sun set ;" 
Quoth the youngest to the eldest maid: 

^'Twas dim but now, and yet 
The light is great." 

Quoth the other : " 'Tis our sight is dazed 

That we see flame i' the air.'* 
But the Queen held her brows and gaujed. 

And said, "It is the glare 
Of torches tliere." 

\ "Oh what are the sounds that rise and spreiid? 
\ All day it was so still;" 
Quoth the youngest to the eldest maid: 
"Unto the furthest hill 
the air they fill." 

Quoth the other: " *Tis our sehse is blurr*d 

With all the chants gone by." 
But the Queen held her breath and heard 

And said, "It is the cry 
Of Victory." 

The first of all the rout was sound. 

The next were dust and flame. 
And then the horses shook the ground: 

And in the thick of them 
A still band came. 



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DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and F if t}f- three 

"Oh what do ye bring out of the fight, 
Thus hid beneath these boughs?" 

"Thy conquering guest returns to-night, 
And yet shall not carouse. 
Queen, in thy house." 

"Uncover ye his face,^* she said. 

"O changed in little space!" 
She crijid, **0 pale that was so red! 

O 6od, O God of grace! 

/ Cover his face." 

His sword was broken in his hand 
i Where he had kissed the blade, 
l^"0 soft steel that could not withstand! 
I O my hard heart unstayed, 
j That prayed and prayed!" 

His bloodied banner crossed his mouth 

'where he had kissed her name. 
"O cast, and west, and north, and south, 
Fair flew my web, for shame, 
To guide Death's aim!" 

The tints were shredded from his shield 

Where he had kissed her face. 
"Oh, of all gifts that I could yield. 

Death only keeps its place. 
My gift and grace!" 

Then stepped a damsel to her side, 
And spoke, and needs must weep: 

"For his sake, lady, if he died, 

He prayed of thee to keep 

This staff and scrip." 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Fifl}f-f our DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTl 

That night they hung above her bed, 

Till morning wet with tears. 
Year after year above her head 

Her bed his token wears, 
Five years, ten years. 

That night the ^^assioii^-Qjf her grief 

Shook them as there they hung.' 
Each yean the wind that shed the . leaf 

Shook them and in its tongue 
A message flung. 

And once she woke with a clear mind 

That letters writ to calm 
Her soul lay in the scri|j; to^nd 

Only a torpid balm 
And dust of palm. 

They shook far off with palace sport 
When joust and dance were rife; 

And the hunt shook them from the court; 
For hers, in peace or strife, 
Was a Queen's life. 

A Queen's death now; as now they shake 

To gusts in chapel dim,r— 
Hung where she sleeps, not seen to wake 

(Carved lovely white and slim). 
With them by him. 

Stand up to-day, still armed, with her. 

Good knight, before His brow 
Who then as now was here and there. 

Who had in mind thy vow 
Then even as now. 



Poetical IVorl^s of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Fifi\f-fi\>t 

The lists are set in Heaven to-day, 

The bright pavilions shine; 
Fair hangs thy shield, and hone gainsay; 

The trumpets sound in sign 
That she is thine. 

Not tithed witl>^"ay»'andxy ears' decease 

He pays thy wage He owed, 
But with imp.erishable peace 

Hpre in his own abode,: 
/Thy jea^us\God. 



Cran^Iation /torn jfrancoi^ ©illon 

(THE BAI^trAD OF BEAp LADIES) 

Tell'me now in what hidden wky is 

Lady Flojra the lovely Roman? 
Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thais, 

Neither of them the fairer woman? 

Where is Echo, beheld of no man, 
Only heard on river and mere, — 

She whose beauty was more than human? 
But where are the snows of yester-year? 

Where's Heloise, the learned nun. 
For whose sake Abeillard, I ween, 

Lost manhood and put priesthood on? 
(From Love he won such dule and teen!) 



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One Hundred and Finy^ix DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTl 

And where, I pray you, is the Queen 
Who willed that Buridan should steer 

Sewed in a sack's mouth down the Seine? . . 
But where are the snows of yester-year? 

White Queen Blancherlike a queen of lilies, 
With a voice like any mermaiden, — 

Bertha Broadfoot, Beatrice, Alice,, 

And Ermengarde the lady of Maine, — 

And that good Joan whom Englishmen 

At Rouen doomed and burned her .there,. — 
Mother of God, where are they then? 

But where are the snows of yester-year ? 

Nay, never ask this w^ek; fair lord, 
Where they arj& gone, nor yet this year, 

Except with this for an overword, — 
But where are the snows of yester-year. 



C6e ftonj of tfee TSotoer 

Say, is it day, is it' dusk in thy bower, 

Thou whom I long for, who longest for me? 
Oh! be it light, be it night, 'tis Love's hour, 

Love's that is fettered as Love's that is free. 
Free Love has leaped to that innermost chamber. 

Oh! the last time, and the hundred before: 
Fettered Love, motionless, can but remember. 

Yet something that sighs from him passes the doon 

Nay, but my heart when it flies to thy bower, 
What does it find there that knows it again? 



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DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Fifi^-seven 

There it must droop like a shower-beaten flower, 
Red at the rent core and dark with the rain. 

Ah ! yet what shelter is still shed above it, — 
What waters still image its leaves torn apart? 

Thy soul is the shade that clings round it to love it, 
And tears are its mirror deep down in thy heart. 

What were my prize, could I enter thy bower. 
This day, to-morrow, at eve or at morn? 

Large lovely arms and a neck like a tower. 
Bosom then heaving that now lies forlorn. 

Kindled with love-breath, (the sun*s kiss is colder !) 

Thy sweetness all near me, so distant to-day; 

My hand round thy neck and thy hand on my shoulder, 
My mouth to thy mouth as the world melts away. 

What is it keeps me afar from thy bower, — 

My spirit, my body, so fain to be there? 
Waters engulfing or fires that devour? — 

Earth heaped against me or death in the air? 
Nay, but in day-dreams, for terror, for pity. 

The trees wave their heads with an omen to tell; 
Nay, but in night-dreams, throughout the dark city, 

The hours, clashed together, lose cbunt in the bell. 

Shall I not one day remember thy bower. 

One day when all days are one day to me? — 
Thinking, '*I stirred not, and yet had the power !" — 

Yearning, "Ah God, if again it might be!" 
Peace, peace! such a small lamp illumes, on this high- 
way. 

So dimly so few steps in front of my feet, — 
Yet shows me that her way is parted from my way. . . 

Out of sight, beyond light, at what goal may we 
meet? 



Page Poetical IVorka of 

One Hundred and Fifly-eighi DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTl 



(B'ctn So 

So it is, my dear. 
All such things touch secret strings 
For heavy hearts. to hear. 
So/It is, my dear. 

- -vVery like indeed: 
Sea aii4 sky, afar, on high. 
Sand an4 strewn seaweed, — 
VeryVikfe indeed. 

But the'^ftil stands .spread 
As one wall with th^^flat skies. 
Where the lean black craft like flies 

Seem well-nigh stagnated, 

Soon to drop pff -dead. 

^ / \. 

Seemed it so to us 
When I was thine and thou wast mine. 
And all these things were thus, 
But all our world in us? 



Could we be so now? 
Not if all beneath heaven's pall 
Lay dead but I and thou. 
Could we be so now! 



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DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Fin,.Z 



HENRY I. OF ENGLAND.-25TH NOVEMBER, 1120 

By none but me can the tale be told, 
The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold. 
{Lands are sTva\)ed k^ it King ma throne.) 
'T was a royal t^ain put forth to sea. 
Yet the tale can|be told by none but me. 
(The se^hmh^no King but Cpdlahne.) 

King ^enry heiait^s life's whole gain 
Thatif^fter his dea^ Ws son should rjign. 

"lywas so in'my yo^lKr heard men 'eay, 
Ai|d my old age calls it baqk to-day. 

King Henry of England's realm was he, 
Ai^d Henry Duke of Kormandy. 

Th^ times had changed when on either coast 
"Clerkly Harry'* was all his boast. 

Of ruthless strokes full many an one 

He had struck to crown himself and his son; 

And his elder brother's eyes were gone. 

And when to the chase his court would crowd, 
The poor flung ploughshares on his road. 
And shrieked: "Our cry is from King to God!" 
But all the chiefs of the English land 
Had knelt and kissed the Prince's hand. 

And next with his son he sailed to France 
To claim the Norman allegiance: 



Page Poetical Wor^t of 

One Hundred and Sixl^ DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

And every Baron in Normandy 
Had taken the oath of fealty. 

'T was sworn and sealed, and the day had come 
When the King and the Prince might journey home : 

For Christmas cheer is to home hearts dear, 
And Christmas now was drawing near. 

Stout Fitx- Stephen came to the King, — 
A pilot famous in seafaring; 

And he held to the King, in all men's sight, 
A mark of gold for his tribute's right. 

**Liege Lord! my father guided the ship 
From whose boat your father's foot did slip 
.When he caught the English soil in his grip, 

"And cried: *By this clasp I claim command 
O'er every rood/jf English land!* 

"He was borhe to the realm 3ri)u rule o'er now 
In that ship with the archer carved at her prow : 

"And thither I'll bear, an* it be ifty due, 
Your father's son and his grandson too. 

"The famed White Ship is mine in the bay; 
From Harfleur's harbor she sails to-day, 

"With masts fair-pennoncd as Norman spean 
And with fifty well-tried mariners." 

Quoth the King : "My ships are chosen each one, 
But I'll not say nay to Stephen's son. 



Poetical Works of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI Ont Hundred and Sixtyf-one 

"My son and daughter and fellowship 
Shall cross the water in the White Ship." 

The King set sail with the eve's south wind, 
And soon he left that coast behind. 

The Prince and all his, a princely show. 
Remained in the good White Ship to go. 

With noble knights and with ladies fair, 
With courtiers and sailors gathered there, 
Three hundred living souls we were: 

And I Berold was the meanest hind 
In all that train to the Prince assigned. 

The Prince was a lawless shameless youth; 
From his father's loins he sprang without ruth: 

Eighteen years till then he had seen. 
And the devil's dues in him were eighteen. 

. \ 
And now he cried: "Bring wiM irom below; 

Let the sailors revel ere yet they row: 

"Our speed shall overtake my father's flight 
Though we sail from the harbor at midnight." 

The rowers made good cheer without check; 

The lords and ladies obeyed his beck; 

The night was light, and they danced on the deck. 

But at midnight's stroke they cleared the bay, 
And the White Ship furrowed the water-way. 

The sails were set, and the oars kept tune 

To the double flight of the ship and the moon : 



(12) 



Pogg Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Sixty,-ii^o DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTl 

Swifter and swifter the White Ship sped 
Till she flew as the spirit flies from the dead: 

As white as a lily glimmered she 
Like a ship's fair ghost upon the sea. 

And the Prince cjie^JJEri^s, 't is the hour to sing! 
Is a songbird'^s" course so s^^-43tn the wing?" 

And under tm winter stars' still throng, 
Fronl'browh thhjats, white throats, merry and strong, 
Th0 knights acnd the ladies raised a song. 

x\ \ 

A song, — nay, a shriek that rent the sky, 
That leaped o'er tb^e ideepl— the grievous crj^ 
Of three hundred livTiig .fiiat^now must die. \ 

An instant shriek J^at sprang to the shocks 
As the ship's k^ef felt the sunken rock. 

'T is said thfiit afar — a shrill strange sigh — 
The King's ships heard it and knew not why. 

Pale Fitz-Stephen stood by the helm 

'Mid all those folk that the waves; must whelnL 

A great King's heir for the waves to whelm, 
And the helpless pilot pale at the helm! 

The ship was eager and sucked athirst, 

By the stealthy stab of the sharp reef pierc'd; 

And like the moil round a sinking cup, 
The waters against her crowded up. 



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DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI On. Hundred and Si.i,tZ 

A moment the pilot's senses spin,— 

The next he snatched the Prince 'mid the din. 

Cut the boat loose, and the youth leaped in. 

A few friends leaped with him, standing near. 
*'Row! the sea's smooth and the night is clear!" 

"What! none to ^e saved but these and I?" 
"Row, row as ydu'd live! AH here mW die!" 

Out of <he chiirn of the chdking ship, '; 

Whiciy the gulf grapples and the waves sttip, 
They^struck with ^he Strained oars' flask and dip 
I "-' \ \ ,=•■'/'' ■■ 

"I|was then o'er thl^ si)^itting bulwaf Ics' brim 
The Prince's sister screamed to him. 

H<| gazed aloft, stiljL Rowing apace, 

Ai^ through the ,vhn-led ^rf he knew her facei 






To tl^ toppHng decks <ilave' one 'and all ^^ 

As a flycleaves to a chamber- wall. 

I Berold was clinging anear; 

I prayed for myself and quaked with fear, 

But I saw his eyes as he looked at her. 

He knew her face and he heard her cry. 
And he said, "Put back! she must not die!" 

And back with the current's force they reel 
Like a leaf that's drawn to a water-wheel. 

'Neath the ship's travail they scarce might float. 
But he rose and stood in the rocking boat. 



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One Hundred and Sixty-four DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

Low the poor ship leaned on the tide: 
O'er the naked keel as she best might slide, 
The sister toiled to the brother's side. 

He reached an oar to her from below, 
And stiffened his arms to clutch her so. 

But now from the ship some spied the boat. 
And "Saved !'* was the cry from many a throat. 

And down to the boat they leaped and fell: 

It turned as a bucket turns in a well, 

And nothing was there but the surge and swelL 

, The Prince that was and the King to come, 

Th«re in an instant gone to.his doom, 

■'":-^-' ,,>^' . .^'■■' 

Despite of all England's bended knee 
And maugre the Norman fealty! 

.^-'/'^ ' 
He was a Princfj of lust and pride ; 

He showed no grace till the hour he died. . 

When he should be King, he oft would vow. 
He'd yoke the peasant to his own plough. 
O'er him the ships score their furrows now. 

God only knows where his soul did wake, 
But I saw him die for his sister's sake. 

By none but me can the tale be told, 
The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold. 
(Lands are swaged b]) a King on a throne.) 
*T was a royal train put forth to sea. 
Yet the tale can be told by none but me. 
{The sea hath no King but Cod alone.) 



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DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Sixty-five 

And now the end came o'er the waters' womb 
Like the last great day that's yet to come. 

With prayers in vain and curses in vain, 
The White Ship sundered on the mid-main : 

And what were men and whaDt-was a ship 
Were toys and isplinters in the sea's grip. 

I Berold was down in the sea ; 

And passing strange though the thing may be, 

Of dreams then known I remember me. 

\ V 
Blithe is the shout"* orrvHarfleur's strand 

When morning lights the sails to land: 

Aiid blithe is Honfleur's echoing gloam 
When mothers call the children home: 

And high to the bells of Rouen beat 

When ^the Body of Christ goes down the street. 

These things and the like were heard and shown 
In a moment's trance 'neath the sea alone; 

And when I rose, 't was the sea did seem, 
And not these things, to be all a dream. 

The ship was gone and the crowd was gone, 
And the deep shuddered and the moon shone. 

And in a strait grasp my arms did span 

The mainyard rent from the mast where it ran; 

And on it with me was another man. 

Where lands were none 'neath the dim sea-sky, 
We told our names, that man and I. 



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One Hundred and Sixiyf-six DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTl 

"O I am Godefroy de I'Aigle hight, 
And son I am to a belted knight." 

"And I am Berold the butcher's son 
Who slays the beasts in Rouen town." 

Then cried we jipQji^jad's name, as we 

Did drift on,v4he bitter winljec^ea, 

I 
But loj^^a third man rose o'er the waye, 

Ai^rfwe slid, *^hank dodj! i^s three mky He save!" 

/ \ ^^^ ' / 

fie clutched to the yard with panting stare, 

/'And we. looked aind knew Fitz-Stephen th^e. 

\\ ., ^. \ -■■ y ;i 

He cluhgrand "Wh^t of tlie Prince ?" quoth he. 

"Lost, lost!" we cried. He cried, "Woe on me!" 

'\ And loosed his hoM and sank through the ^ea. 

ir .•■ ,y , ---. 

\\ • ' . 

\And soul wi^h^soul agmn in that space 

>ye two wetei together face to face: 

And each knew each, as the moments sped. 
Less for one living than for one dead; 

And every still star overhead 

Seemed an eye that knew we were but dead. 

And the hours passed; till the noble's son 
Sighed, "God be thy help! my strength's foredone! 

"O farewell, friend, for I can no more !" 

"Christ take thee !" I moaned ; and his life was o'er. 

Three hundred souls were all lost but one. 
And I drifted over the sea alone. 



Poetical Works of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Sixiyf-ieven 

At last the morning rose on the sea 

Like an angel's wing that beat towards me. 

Sore numbed I was in my sheepskin coat; 
Half dead I hung, and might nothing note, 
Till I woke sun-warmed in a fisher-boat. 

The sun was high o'er the eastern brim 
As I praised God and gave thanks to Him. 

Thay'SajTTNtol^.my tale to a priest, 

Who charged me,. till the shrift were^feleas'd, 

That I should ki^ep ^it in mine own h^BtSC'^^\ 

•And with the priest I then(:e. <ii$-^re 
,To King Henry's cbuil; at Winchester. 

We spoke with the King's high chamberlain, 
And he wept a^<|, mourned again and again, 
A^ if his own 401 had beth slain: 

And^N^und ,4air ever tl^ere crowded fast 
Great rffen with faces Jail aghast : 

And who so bold that might tell the thing 
Which now they knew to their lord the King? 
Much woe I learnt in their communing. 

The King had watched with a heart sore stirred 
For two whole days, and this was the third: 

And still to all his court would he say, 
"What keeps my son so long away?" 

And they said: "The ports lie far and wide 
That skirt the swell of the English tide: 



Page Poelkal Works of 

Ons Hundred and Sixt},-tighi DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

"And England's cliffs are not more white 
Than her women are, and scarce so light 
Her skies as their eyes are blue and bright; 

"And in some port that he reached from France 
The Prince has lingered for his pleasaunce." 



But once the,' King asked: "What distant cry 
Was that we beard 'twixt the sea and^ky?" 

And one said: "With suchlike shouts, pardie! 
Do the fishers fling their nets at sea." 

And one: "Who knows not the shrieking quest 
When the sea-mew missea its young from the nest?" 

'T was thus till now thty liad soothed his dread, 
Albeit they knew not what they said : 

B|it who should speak to-day of the thing 
Tliat all knew there except 4he King? 

Then pondering much they found a way, 
And met roUnd the King's high seat that day: 

And the King sat with a heart sore stirred. 
And seldom he spoke and seldom heard. 

'T wus then through the hall the King was 'ware 
Of a little boy with golden hair. 

As bright as the golden poppy is 

That the beach breeds for the surf to kiss : 

Yet pale his cheek as the thorn in Spring, 
And his garb black like the raven's wing. 



Poetical Works of ' _ Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI On^ Hundred and Sixty-nine 

Nothing heard but his foot through the hall, 
For now the lords were silent all. 

And the king wondered, and said, "Alack! 
Who sends me a fair boy dressed in black? 

"Why, sweet heai^tj db you pace through the hall 
As though my court were a funeral?" 

Then lowly knelt the child at the dais, 
And looked up weeping in the King's face. 

"O wherefore black, O King, ye may say. 
For white is the hue of death to-day. 

"Vour son and all hi^ fellowship 

Lie low in the sea with ^e White Ship." 

King Henry fell a<(/€r'ma'n struck dead; 
And speechless still he stared from his bed 
Wheh to him next day my rede I read. 

There's rriany an hour must needs beguile 
A King's high heart that he should smile, — 

Full many a lordly hour, full fain 

Of his realm's rule and pride of his reign: — 

But this King never smiled again. 

By none but me can the tale be told, 
The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold. 
(Lands are snfay^ed b]f a King on a throne.) 
'T was a royal train put forth to sea. 
Yet the tale can be told by none but me. 
(The sea hath no King but Cod alone.) 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Seventy, DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 



JAMES I. OF SCOTS. — 20TH FEBRUARY, 1437. 

A few stanzas from King James's lovely poem, known as "The King's 
Quhair," are quoted in the--ccTt»«c.j3i^h» ^ballad. The writer must express re- 
gret for the necessity wtiich has compelled -Jiijn to shorten the ten-syllabled 
lines to eight syllables/ in order that they might^iwrmonize with the ballad 
metre, \ 



I/CTathet^ne Hm a Dougjas born, 

.' A name to ^1 Scots dear; 

/'And Kate BarlaBs.*. they've called^mc-now 

. Through many a waning year. \ 

I ... \. >"""' ^f^'' 

This old arm's Whlier^d no^. 'T was once^ 

Most deft 'mong' maidens all / 

To rein the steed, to wing the shaft. 

To smite the palnwplay ball. 

In hall adown the close-iinfecd dance 
It has shone most white and fair;. 
It has been the rest for a trt^e l6rd*s head. 
And many a sweet babe's nursing-bed, 
And the bar to a King's chambere. 

Aye, lasses, draw round Kate Barlass, 

And hark with bated breath 
How good King James, King Robert's son. 

Was foully done to death. 

.:. Tradition says that Catherine Douglas, in honor of her heroic act when 
she barred the door with her arm against the murderers of James the First of 
Scots, received popularly the name of "Barlass." This name remains to her 
descendants, the Barlas family, in Scotland, who bear for their crest a broken 
arm. She married Alexander Lovell of Bolunnie. 



Poetical Wor^s of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Seventy-one 

Through all the days of his gallant youth 

The princely James was pent, 
By his friends at first and then by his foes, 

In long imprisonment. 

For the elder Prince, the kingdom's heir. 

By treason's murderous., brood 
Was slain ; arid the father quaked ^^r the child 

With the broyal mortal blood. "\ 

^— ^. \ ^ ^ I ; '-^^^ 

V the Bass^Roi^lj: fort, by his father's c^re, 
./Was his cbildhpod's life assured; ,.^^ 
/"And Henry the siibtle Bolingbrols^, '' ' , 
Proud England'ii. King, 'neatbthV southron yoke 
His youth for l6n.g y©a(rsjiiwfnured. 

; Yet in all things mfeet for a kingly man 
V Himself did He approve; 
'And the nigh^ngale through his prison-wall 
VPaught bim both .lore land love. 

For once, when the bird's song dtcvv him close 

To the opened window-pane. 
In her bower beneath a lady stood, 
A light of life to his sorrowful mood, 

Like a lily amid the fain. 

And for her sake, to the sweet bird's note. 

He framed a sweeter Song, 
More sweet than ever a poet's heart 

Gave yet to the English tongue. 



Page Poelical Wor^s of 

One Hundred and Seveni^-ti»o DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

She was a lady of royal blood; 

And when, past sorrow and teen, 
He stood where still through his crownless years 

His Scotish realm had been. 
At Scone were the happy lovers crowned, 

A heart- wed Kiiig and' Queen. 

But the bird may fall from the boiigji of youth. 

And song be turned to moan, N^ 
And Love's storm-cloud be the shadoW of Hate, 
When the tempest- waves of a troubled State 
Are beating against a throne. 

Yet well they loved; and th^ god of Love, 

Whom well the King Md sung. 
Might find on the earth no truer hearts 

His lowliest swiains among. 

From the days when fifst she rode abroad 

With Scotish maids in her train, 
I Catherine Douglas won the trust 

Of my mistress sweet Queen Jane. 

And oft she sighed, "To be born a King !" 

And oft along the way 
When she saw the homely lovers pass 

She has said, "Alack the day!" 

Years waned, — the loving and toiling yearg: 

Till England's wrong renewed 
Drove James, by outrage cast on his crown, 

To the open field of feud. 



Poetical H''or^s of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Seveni],-three 

*T was when the King and his host were met 

At the leaguer of Roxbro' hold, 
The Queen o' the sudden sought his camp 

With a tale of dread to be told. 

And she showed him a secret letter writ 

That spoke of treasonous strife, 
And how a band of his noblest lords 

Were sworn to take his life. 

"And it may be here or it may be there, 
In the camp or the court." she said: 

"But for my sake come to your people's arm» 
And guard 3^ou^ royal head." 

Quoth he, " 'T is the fifteenth day of the siege, 

And the castle's nigh to yield." 
"O face your foes on your throne," she cried, 

"And show the power you wield; 
And under your Scotish people's love 

You shall sit as under your shield." 

At the fair Queen's side I stood that day 
When he bade them raise the siege. 

And back to his Court he sped to know 
How the lords would meet their Liege. 

But when he summoned his Parliament, 

The louring brows hung round. 
Like clouds that circle the mountain-head 

Ere the first low thunders sound. 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Seveni^-i our DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

For he had tamed the nobles' lust 
And curbed their power and pride, 

And reached out an arm to right the poor 
Through Scotland far and wide; 

And many a lordly wrong-doer 
By the headsman's axe had died. 

'T was then/upspoke Sir Robert Graeme, 

The bold (o'ermastering man : -^* 
"O King, in\the name of -your Thre■^^ Estates 

I^ set yrfU^urtder their Ha»! 

"For, as yourMords made oath to you 
f Of service and fealty, ^..■''/ 

! Even in like wise you pJLedged your oath ' 
Their faithful snetojb^^ 

fy '"* 

I "Yet all''we-her<^-^at are nobly sprung 
Have mourned' dear kith and kin 
Since first for the Scotish Baron's curse 
^Pid your bloody rule begin." 

With that he laid his hands oil liis- Kifig : — 

"Is this not so, my lords?" 
But of all who had sworn to league with him 

Not one spake back to his words. 

Quoth the King: — "Thou speak'st but for one 
Estate, 

Nor doth it avow thy gage. 
Let my liege lords hale this traitor hence!'* 

The Graeme fired dark with rage : — 
"Who works for lesser men than himself, 

He earns but a witless wage !" 



Poetical Worlds of p^g^ 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Seven/y./fve 

But soon from the dungeon where he lay 

He won by privy plots, 
And forth he fled with a price on his head 

To the country of the Wild Scots. 

And word there came from Sir Robert Graeme 

To the King aj^^dinhro;: — 
"No Liege of mine thou art ; "but J. see 
From this da| forth alone in thee^' > 

God'§,..cireatUre, my, mortal foe. 

"Though the^^rlSmy wife and childre|*' lost, 
jAy heritage ^d knds ; y^^.«**--*N*,^ 

And when my G6d shall show me a .i^ay, 
Thyself my mortal foe will I slay 
, With these my proper hands." 

Against iiie coming of Christmastide 
\That year the King bardie call 
T the Black Friar's Charterhotise of Perth 
A solemn festival. 

And we of his household rode with him 

In a close-ranked company; 
But not till the sun had sunk from his throne 

Did we reach the Scotish Sea. 

That eve was clenched for a boding storm, 
'Neath a toilsome moon half seen; 

The cloud stooped low and the surf rose high; 

And where there was a line of the sky. 
Wild wings loomed dark between. 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Se^enlysix DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

And on a rock of the black beach-side, 

By the veiled moon dimly lit, 
There was something seemed to heave with life 

As the King drew nigh to it. 

And was it only the tossing furze 

Or brake of the waste sea-wold? 
Or was it an eagle bent to the blast? 
When near we came, we knew it at last 

For a woman tattered and old. 

But it seemed as though by a fire within 

Her writhen limbs were wrung; 
And as soon as the King was close to her, 

She stood up gaunt and strong. 

'T was then the moon sailed clear of the rack 

On high in her hollow dome; 
And still as aloft with hoary crest 

Each clamorous wave rang home, 

Like fire in snow the moonlight blazed 

Amid the champing foam. 

And the woman held his eyes with her eyes : -— 

"O King, thou art come at last; 
But thy wraith has haunted the Scotish Sea 

To my sight for four years past. 

"Four years it is since first I met, 
*Twixt the Duchray and the Dhu, 
A shape whose feet clung close in a shroud. 
And that shape for thine I knew. 



Poetical Work' of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Sereni^-seven 

"A year again, and on Inchkeith Isle 

I saw thee pass in the breeze, 
With the cerecloth risen above thy feet 

And wound about thy knees. 

"And yet a year, in the Links of Forth, 

As a wanderer without rest, 
Thou cam'st with both thine arms i* the shroud 

That clung high up thy breast. 

"And in this hour I find thee here. 

And well mine eyes may note 
That the winding-sheet hath passed thy breast 

And risen around thy throat. 

"And when I meet thee again, O King, 

That of death hast such sore drouth, — 
Except thou turn again on this shore, — 
The winding-sheet shall have moved once more 
And covered thine eyes and mouth. 

"O King, whom poor men bless for their King, 

Of thy fate be not so fain; 
But these my words for God's message take. 
And turn thy steed, O King, for her sake 

Who rides beside thy rein!" 

'While the woman spoke, the King's horse reared 

As if it would breast the sea. 
And the Queen turned pale as she heard on the gale 

The voice die dolorously. 



<13) 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Sevenlyf-eighi DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

When the woman ceased, the steed was still, 

But the King gazed on her yet. 
And in silence save for the wail of the sea 

His eyes and her eyes met. 

At last he said: — "God's ways are His own; 

Man is but shadow and dust. 
Last night I prayed by His altar-stone ; 
To-night I wend to the Feast of His Son; 

And in PRm I set my trust. 

"I.iiave held rhy people in sacred charge, 

, And have not feared the sting 
Of proud men's hate, — to His will resign'd 
Who has but one same death for a hind 

And one same death for a King. 

"And if God in His wisdom have brought close 

The day when I must die, 
That day by water or fire or air 
My feet shall fall in the destined snare 

Wherever my road may lie. 

"What man can say but the Fiend hath set 

Thy sorcery on my path. 
My heart with the fear of death to fill, 
And turn me against God's very will 

To sink in His burning wrath?" 

The woman stood as the train rode past, 

And moved nor limb nor eye; 
And when we were shipped, we saw her there 

Still standing against the sky. 



Poetical Works of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Sex^enty-nine 

As the ship made way, the moon once more 

Sank slow in her rising pall; 
And I thought of the shrouded wraith of the King, 

And I said, *'The Heavens know all.'* 

And now, ye lasses, must ye hear 
How my name is Kate Barlass : — 

But a little thing, when all the tale 
Is told of the weary mass 

Of crime and woe which in Scotland's realm 
God's will let come to pass. 

'T was in the Charterhouse of Perth 

That the King and all his Court 
Were met, the Christmas Feast being done, 
( For solace and disport. 

*T was a wind-wild eve in February, 

And against the casement-pane 
The branches smote like summoning hands 

And muttered the driving rain. 

And when the wind swooped over the lift 
And made the whole heaven frown. 

It seemed a grip was laid on the walls 
To tug the housetop down. 

And the Queen was there, more stately fair 

Than a lily in garden set; 
And the King was loth to stir from her side; 
For as on the day when she was his bride. 

Even so he loved her yet. 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Eighty, DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

And the Earl of Athole, the King's false friend, 

Sat with him at the board; 
And Robert Stuart the chamberlain 

Who had sold his sovereign Lord. 

Yet the traitor Christopher Chaumber there 

Would fain have told him all. 
And vainly four times that night he strove 

To reach the King through the hall. 

But the wine is bright at the goblet's brim 

Though the poison lurk beneath; 
And the apples still are red pn the tree 
Within whose shade may the adder be 
That shall turn thy life to death. 

There was a knight of the King's fast friends 
Whom he called the King of Love ; / 

And to ^uch bright cheer and courtesy 
That name might best behove. 

And the King and Queen both loved him well 

For his gentle knightliness ; 
And with him the King, as that eve wore on. 

Was playing at the chess. 

And the King said, (for he thought to jest 
And soothe the Queen thereby ;) — 

"In a book 't is writ that this same year 
A King shall in Scotland die. 



Poeiical Worki oi Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Eighty-one 

"And I have pondered the matter o'er, 
And this have I found, Sir Hugh, — 

There are but two Kings on Scotish ground, 
And those Kings are I and you. 

"And I have a wife and a new-bprn heir. 

And you ate yourself alone; ^ 
So stand you stark at my side with me 

To guard oufNdouble throne;. 
\ \^ • / 

"Fdr here sit ranalmy wifcf and child, 

As well your heart shall approve, 
In full surrender and soothfastness. 

Beneath your Kingdom of Love." 

^nd the Knight laughed, and the Queen too smijfed ; 
\ But I knew her heavy thought, 
And I strove to find in the good King's jest 
What cheer might thence be wrought. 



DtieeiTsr^ai 



And I said, *^My Liege, for the Qtieen*Sf dear love 

Now sing the song that of old 
You made, when a captive Prince you lay. 
And the nightingale sang sweet on the spray, 

In Windsor's castle-hold." 

Then he smiled the smile I knew so well 
When he thought to please the Queen; 

The smile which under all bitter frowns 
Of hate that rose between. 

For ever dwelt at the poet's heart 
Like the bird of love unseen. 



Pagt Poetical Work* of 

One Hundred and Eighiy-tno DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTl 

And he kissed her hand and took his harp, 

And the music sweetly rang; 
And when the song burst forth, it seemed 

'T was the nightingale that sang. 

"Worship, ije lovers, on this Ma}^: 

Of bliss your k^ltnds are begun: 
Sing mth i^s, Awa}), Winder, away? I 

Come, Summer, the street season and sun! 
An>ake for shame, — y^our heaven is rvon, •■- 
jAnd amorously your heads lift all: 
Thank JLo^j ^^ai.you to his grace doth call!'* 

But when he bent to the Queen, and sang 
The speech whose praise was hers, 

It seemed his voice was the voice of the Spring 
And the voice of the bygone years. 

**The fairest and the freshest florver 
That ever I sar» before that hour. 
The which o* the sudden made to start 
The blood of my body to my heart. 

4e « 4^ « 4i 

Ah sjuee/, are ye a T»orldly creature 
Or heavenly thing in form of nature?" 

And the song was long, and richly stored 
With wonder and beauteous things; 

And the harp was tuned to every change 
Of minstrel ministerings ; 

But when he spoke of the Queen at the last, 
Its strings were his own heart-strings. 



Poetical Works of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Eightyihree 

**UnJi)orih}) but only of her grace. 

Upon Love's rock that's easyf and sure. 

In guerdon of all my loves space 
She took me her humble creature. 
Thus fell my blissful aventure 

In youth of Igi^e thoTfrom day. to day 

Flowereth aye nen?, and further 1 say, 

**X<f Te'cl^n aU^ the circumstance 

As it happed h»/ien lessen gan my sore. 

Of my rancor and Tvoful chance. 

It rvere too long, — / have done tl^tre for. 
And of this flatter I say no more 

But unto my help her heart hath tended 

And even from death her J^an defended,** 

"Aye, even frOMl death," to myself I said; 

For I thought of the day when she 
Had borne him the news, at Roxbro' siege. 

Of the fell confederacy. 

But Death even then took aim as he sang 

With an arrow deadly bright; 
And the grinning skull lurked grimly aloof, 
And the wings were spread far over the roof 

More dark than the winter night. 

Yet truly along the amorous song 

Of Love's high pomp and state. 
There were words of Fortune's trackless doom 

And the dreadful face of Fate. 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Eighi^-iouT DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

And oft have I heard again in dreams 

The voice of dire appeal 
In which the King then sang of the pit 

That is under Fortune's wheel. 

"And under the whtd beheld I there 

An ugl}f Pit as deep as hell. 
That to behold I quaked for fear: 

And this I heard, that n>ho therein fell 

Came no more up, ^tidings to tell: 
Whereat, astoiind of the fearful sight, 

; / wist not whai\fo do for fright** 

-'< '' -^ '■'^ *■> 

And oft has my thought called up again 

These words of the changeful song: — 
**Wisi thou th)) pain and thy travail 
To come, well mighfst thou Weep and Wail!** 
And our wail, O God! is long. 

But the song's end was all of his love; 

And well his heart was grac'd 
With her smiling lips and her tear-bright eyes 

As his arm ^y^ent round her waist. 

And on the swell of her long fair throat 

Close clung the necklet-chain 
As he bent her pearl-tir'd head aside, 
And in the warmth of his love and pride 

He kissed her lips full fain. 



Poetical IVorks of Pag^ 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Elght}f-five 

And her true face was rosy red, 

The very red of the rose 
That, couched on the happy garden-bed 

In the summer sunlight glows. 

And all the wondrous things of love 
That sang S9 sweet through the song 

Were in the look that met }n their eyes, 
And the look >yas d^ep arid long. 

*T yas then a knocl? came at the outer gate, 
y^nd the ushef sought the King. 
|*The woman you met by the Scotish Sea, 
■^ My Liege, would t^U yoti a thing; 
And she says that her present need for speech 
Will bear no gainsaying." 

Ai;id the King said : "The hour is late ; 

To-morrow will serve, I ween." 
Then he charged the usher strictly, and said : 

"No word of this to the Queen.'* 

But the usher came again to the King. 

"Shall I call her back?" quoth he: 
"For as she went on her way she cried, 

*Woe! Woe! then the thing must be!*" 

And the King paused, but he did not speak. 

Then he called for the Voidee-cup: 
And as we heard the twelfth hour strike, 
There by true lips and false lips alike 

Was the draught of trust drained up. 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Eightyf-six DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

So with reverence meet to King and Queen, 

To bed went all from the board; 
And the last to leave of the courtly train 
Was Robert Stuart the chamberlain 
Who had sold his sovereign lord. 



And all iiie locks of the chafr^er-door 
Had the traitor riven and brast ; 
And that Fate might win sure way from afar, 
He had drawn out every bolt and bar 
That made the entrance fast. 

And now at midnight he. stole liis way | 

To the moat of the outer wall, 
And laid strong hurdles closely across • 

Where the traitor's tread should fall. 

^ V 

But we that were the Queen's bower-mads 

Alone were left behind; 
And with heed we drew the curtains close 

Against the winter wind. 

And now that all was still through the hall, 

More clearly we heard the rain 
That clamored ever against the glass 

And the boughs that beat on the pane. 

But the fire was bright in the ingle-nook. 

And through empty space around 
The shadows cast on the arras'd wall 
'Mid the pictured kings stood sudden and tall 
Like spectres sprung from the ground. 



Poetical Works of ^««« 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Eighiyf-seven 

And the bed was dight in a deep alcove; 

And as he stood by the fire 
The King was still in talk with the Queen 

While he doffed his goodly attire. 

And the song had brought the image back 

Of many a bygone year ; 
And many at loving word they said 
With hand in hand and head laid to bead; 

And none of us went anear. 

But Love was weeping outside the notlse,- 

A child in the piteous rain ; 
; And as he watched the arrow of Death, 
He wailed for his own shafts close in the sheath 

That never should fly again. 

,.■' /^- \ 

1 '" \ 

And now beoia'th the -vvindow arose 

A wild voice suddenly: 
And the King reared straight, but the Queen fell 
back 

As for bitter dule to dree ; 
And all of us knew the woman's voice 

Who spoke by the Scotish Sea. 

"O King,'* she cried, "in an evil hour 

They drove me from thy gate; 
And yet my voice must rise to thine ears; 

But alas! it comes too late! 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Eighi^f-eighi DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

"Last night at mid-watch, by Aberdour, 
When the moon was dead in the skies, 

O King, in a death-light of thine own 
I saw thy shape arise. 

"And in full season, as erst I said. 
The dooni had gained its growjth; 
And the shrbud had risen. above th^^neck 

Arid covered, thin6 eyei and mouth\ 

\ \_ '■• 7 ; / 

"And no moon woke, but the pale dawn broke. 
And still thy soUl stood there; ' 

And I thought its silence cried to my soul 
As the ftrst rayW dproWn^d its hair. 

"Since then have I journeyed fast and fain 

In very despite of F^te, 
Lest Hope might still be found in God's will ; 

^^ut they drove me from thy gate. 
""■'"^•"^ ," \ J 

"For every man on God's ground, O King, 

His deati^ grows up from his birth 
In a shadow-plant perpetually; 

And thine towers high, a black yew-tree, 

O'er the Charterhouse of Perth!" 

That room was built far out from the house ; 

And none but we in the room 
Might hear the voice that rose beneath. 

Nor the tread of the coming doom. 



Poetical IVorl^s of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Eight), -nine 

For now there came a torchlight-glare. 
And a clang of arms there came; 

And not a soul in that space but thought 
Of the foe Sir Robert Graeme. 

Yea, from the country of the Wild Scots, 

O'er mountain, valley, and glen. 
He had brought with him in murderous league 

Three hundred armed men. 

The King knew all in an instant's flash, 

And like a Kang did he stand; 
But there was no armor in all the room, 

Nor weapon lay ^ to his hand. 

And all we women flew to the door 
And thought to have made it fast; 
But the bolts were gone and the bars were gone 
And the locks were riven and brast. 

And he caught the pale, pale Queen in his arms 

As the iron footsteps fell, — 
Then loosed her, standing alone, and said, 

"Our bliss was our farewell !'* 

And 'twixt his lips he murmured a prayer, 

And he crossed his brow and breast; 
And proudly in royal hardihood 
Even so with folded arms he stood,— 
The price of the bloody quest. 



Page Poetical Worlds of 

One Hundred and Ninety DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

Then on me leaped the Queen like a deer : — 

"O Catherine, help!" she cried. 
And low at his feet we clasped his knees 

Together side by side. 
"Oh! even a King, for his people^s sake. 

From treasonous death must hide!" 

"For her sake most!" I cried, and I marked 
The pang that my words could wring. 

And the iron tongs from the chimney-nook 
I snatched and held to the King:-^ 

"Wrench up the plank! and the vault beneath 
/Shall yield safe harboring." 



y 



With brows low-bent, from nT^yea^er hand 

The heavy heft 4id he i:ake; 
And the plank at his feet he wrenched and tore; 
And as he frowned through the open floor, 

Again I said, "For her sake!" 

The he cried to the Queen, "God*s will be done !" 
For her hands were clasped in prayer. 
And down he sprang to the inner crypt; 
And straight we closed the plank he had ripp'd 
And toiled to smoothe it fair. 

(Alas! in that vault a gap once was 

Wherethro' the King might have fled: 
But three days since close-walled had it been 
By his will; for the ball would roll therein 
When without at the palm he play'd.) 



Poetical Works of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Nmefy-one 

Then the Queen cried, "Catherine, keep the door. 

And I to this will suffice !" 
At her word I rose all dazed to my feet, 

And my heart was fire and ice. 

And louder ever the voices grew, 

And the tramp of men in mail; 
Until to my brain it seemed to be 
As though I tossed on a ship at sea 

In the teeth fof a crashing gale. 

Then, back f flew to the rfes^; and hard 

Wc strove with sinews knit 
T9..force the table against the door; 
'But we might not compass it. 

■ '^----^ \. ■'■''^"'^,^^"" 

Then my wild gaze sped far down the hall 

To the place of the hearthstone-sill ; 

And the Queen bent ever above the floor. 

For the plank was rising still. 

And now the rush was heard on the stair. 
And "God, what help?'* was our cry. 

And was I frenzied or was I bold? 

I looked at each empty stanchion-hold, 
And no bar but my arm had I! 

Like iron felt my arm, as through 

The staple I made it pass : — 
Alack! it was flesh and bone — no more! 
'T was Catherine Douglas sprang to the door, 

But I fell back Kate Barlass. 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Nmti}fti»o DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

With that they all thronged into the hall, 

Half dim to my failing ken; 
And the space that was but a void before 

Was a crowd of wrathful men. 

Behind the door I had fall'n and lay, 

Yet my sense was wildly aware, 
And for all the pain of my shattered arm 

I never fainted there. 

Even as I fell, my eyes were cast 

Where the Kink leaped down to the pit; 

And lo! the plank was smooth in its place. 
And the Queen stood far from it. 

And under the litters and through the bed 

And within the presses all 
The traitors sought for" the King, and pierced 

The arras around the wall. 

And through the chamber they ramped and stormed 

Like lions loose in the lair. 
And scarce could trust to their very eyes, — 

For behold! no King was there. 

Then one of them seized the Queen, and cried, — 
"Now tell us, where is thy lord?" 
And he held the sharp point over her heart: 
She drooped not her eyes nor did she start. 
But she answered never a word. 



Poetical Works of ' PaS^ 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Ninety-three 

Then the sword half pierced the true, true breast : 
But it was the Graeme's own son 

Cried, "This is a woman, — we seek a man!" 
And away from her girdle zone 

He struck the point of the murderous steel ; 
And that foul deed was not done. 

And forth flowed all the throng like a sea. 

And 'twas empty space once more; 
And my eyes sought out the wounded Queen 

As I lay behind the door. 

/ V. . '• i / 

Aiid I said : *^ea^ Lady, 'leave me here, 

For I cannot help you now; 
But fly while you may, and none shall reck 

Of my place here lying low." 

And she said, "My Catherine, God help thee !** 
Then she lopped to the distant floor, 

And clasping4i'er hands, "O God help /iiVn," 
She sobbed, "for we can no more!" 

But God He knows what help may mean, 

If it mean to live or to die; 
And what sore sorrow and mighty moan 
On earth it may cost ere yet a throne 

Be filled in His house on high. 

And now the ladies fled with the Queen; 

And through the open door 
The night-wind wailed round the empty room 

And the rushes shook on the floor. 



(14) 



Page Poetical WoT^i of 

One Hundred and Ninety-four DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

And the bed drooped low in the dark recess 
Whence the arras was rent away; 

And the firelight still shone over the space 
Where our hidden secret lay. 

And the rain had ceased, and the moonbeams lit 

The window high in the wall, — 
Bright beams that otl the plank that I knew 

Through the painted pane did fall 
And gleamed with the splendor of Scotland's crown 

And shield armorial. 



/ 



But then a great wind swept up the skies, 
And the cHmbing moon fell back; 

And the royal blazon fled from the floor, 
And nought remained on its track; 

And high in the darkened window-pane 
The shield and the crown were black. 

And what I say next I partly saw 

And partly I heard in sooth, 
And partly since from the murderers' lips 

The torture wrung the truth. 

For now again came the armed tread, 
And fast through the hall it fell; 

But the throng was less ; and ere I saw. 
By the voice without I could tell 

That Robert Stuart had come with them 
Who knew that chamber well. 



Poetical IVor^s of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Ninely- five 

And over the space the Graeme strode dark 
With his mantle round him flung; 

And in his eye was a flaming light 
But not a word on his tongue. 

And Stuart held a torch to the floor, • 

And he found the thing he sought; 

And they slashed the plank away with their swords ; 
And O God ! I fainted not ! 

And the traitor held his torch in the gap, 

All smoking and smouldering; 
^d through the vapor and fire, beneath 

In the dark crypt*s narrow ring, 
With a shout that pealed to the room's high roof 

They saw their naked King. 

Half naked he stood, but stood as one 

Who yet could do and dare: 
With the crown, the King was stript away, — 
The Knight was reft of his battle-array, — 

But still the Man was there. 

From the rout then stepped a villain forth, — 

Sir John Hall was his name; 
With a knife unsheathed he leapt to the vault 

Beneath the torchlight-flame. 

Of his person and stature was the King 

A man right manly strong, 
And mightily by the shoulder-blades 

His foe to his feet he flung. 



Page Poetical Works of 

One Hundred and Ninety-six DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

Then the traitor^s brother, Sir Thomas Hall, 

Sprang down to work his worst; 
And the King caught the second man by the neck 

And flung him above the first. 

And he smote and trampled them under him; 

And a long month thence they bare 
All black their throats with the grip of his hands. 

When the hangman's hand came there. 

And sore he strove to have had thei^^knives, 
But the sharp blades gashed his hands. 

Oh James! so armed, thou hadst battled there 
Till help had come of thy bands; 

And oh ! once more thou hadst held our throne 
And ruled thy Scotish lands ! '■, 

^ ~ ) 

But while the King o'er his foes still ragea 
With a heart that nought could tame, 
\. Another man sprang down to the crypt ; 
Arid with his sword in his hand hard gripp'd, 
There stood Sir Robert Graeme. 

(Now shame on the recreant traitor's heart 

Who durst not face his King 
Till the body unarmed was wearied out 

With two-fold combating! 

Ah! well might the people sing and say, 

As oft ye have heard aright : — 
"O Robert Graeme, O Robert Graeme, 
Who slew our King, God give thee shame!'* 

For he slew him not as a knight.) 



Poetical Worlds of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Ninelx^-seven 

And the naked King turned round at bay, 
But his strength had passed the goal, 

And he could but gasp : — "Mine hour is come ; 

But oh! to succor thine own soul's doom, 
Let a priest now shrive my soul!" 

And the traitcp looked on the King*& spent strength, 
And said : -V- "Have I kept my word? — 

Yea, King, the mortal pledge that I gave? 

No black friar's shrift thy soul shall have. 
But the shrift of this red sword!"/ 



|w; 



ith that he smote his King through the brea^; 

And all they thre^ m that pen 
Fell on him and stabbed arid stabbed him there,/ 
} Like merciless murderous men. ^^ 



Yet seemed it now that Sir Robert Graeme, 
Eire the King's last breath was o'er, / 

Turned sick at heart with the deadly sight 
And would have done no more. 

n 

But a cry came from the troop abbve : — 

"If him thou do not slay. 
The price of his life that thou dost spare 

Thy forfeit life shall pay!" 

O God ! what more did I hear or see, 

Or how should I tell the rest? 
But there at length our King lay slain 

With sixteen wounds in his breast. 



Page Poetical IVorks of 

One Hundred and Ninel})-eight DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

O God ! and now did a bell boom forth, 

And the murderers turned and fled ; — 
Too late, too late, O God, did it sound ! — 
And I heard the true men mustering round, 
And the cries and the coming tread. 

But ere they came, to the black death-gap 

Somewise did I creep and steal; 
And lo ! or ever I swooned away. 
Through the dusk I saw where the white face lay 

In the Pit of Fortune's Wheel. 

And now, ye Scotish maids who have heard 
Dread things of the days grown old, — 

Even at the last, of true Queen Jane 
May somewhat yet be told. 

And how she dealt for her dear lord's sake 
Dire vengeance manifold. 

*T was ill the Charterhouse of Perth, 

In the fair-lit Death-chapelle, 
That the. slain King's corpse on bier was laid 

With cn^vint and requiem-knell. 

And all with royal wealth of balm 

Was the body purified; 
And none could trace on the brow and lips 

The death that he had died. 

In his robes of state he lay asleep 

With orb and sceptre in hand; 
And by the crown he wore on his throne 

Was his kingly forehead spann*d. 



Poetical Works of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI One Hundred and Ninely-nme 

And, girls, *t was a sweet sad thing to see 

How the curling golden hair. 
As in the day of the poet's youth, 

From the King's crown clustered there. 

And if all had come to pass in the brain 

That throbbed beneath those curls. 
Then Scots had said in the days to come 
That this their soil was a different home 
And a different Scotland, girls! 

And the Queen sat by him night and day. 

And oft she knelt in prayer. 
All wan and pale in the widow's veil 

That shrouded her .joining hair. 

And I had got good help of my hurt : 

And only to me some sign 
She made ; and save the priests that were there 

No face,.<would she see but mine. 

And the month of March wore on apace; 

And now fresh couriers fared 
Still from the country of the Wild Scots 

With news of the traitors snared. 

And still as I told her day by day, 

Her pallor changed to sight. 
And the frost grew to a furnace-flame 

That burnt her visage white. 



Page Poetical Works of 

T-a>o Hundred DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 

And evermore as I brought her word, 
She bent to her dead King James, 

And in the cold ear with fire-drawn breath 
She spoke the traitors' names. 

But when the name of Sir Robert Graeme 

Was the pne she had to give, 
I ran to hol^ her up from the floor^; 
For the" froth was on her lips, and sore 

I feared that she could not live. 

And the month of March wore nigh to its end. 
And still was the death-pall spread; 

For she would nb^Jburv'^her slaughtered lord 
Till his slayers a^^^effe dead. 

And now of their dooms dread tidings camq. 

And of torments fierce and dire ; 
And nought she spake, — she had ceased to speak, — 

^tj^^>yes were a soul on fire. 

But when I told her the bitter end 

Of the stern and just award. 
She leaned o'er the bier, and thrice three times 

She kissed the lips of iier lord. 

And then she said, — "My King, they are dead!" 
And she knelt on the chapel-floor, 

And whispered low with a strange proud smile, — 
"James, James, they suffered more!" 



Poetical IVor^s of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI Tv,o Hundred and One 

Last she stood up to her queenly height, 

But she shook like an autumn leaf. 
As though the fire wherein she burned 
Then left her body, and all were turned 
To winter of life-long grief. 

And "O James!" she said, — "My James!" she 
said, — 

"Alas for the woful thing, 
Tha^ a poet true g,nd a friend 6i man. 
In desperate days hi bale and ban, 

-Should needs be i>om a King!" 



Page Poetical Works of 

Two Hundred and Tno DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTl 



Cfte Oou0e of Life 

CII.— THE ONE HOPE 

When vain desire at last and vain regret 
Go hand in hand, to death, and,^!! is vain. 
What shall assuage the unforgotten pain 

And teach the unforgetful to forget? 

Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet; — 
Or may the soul at once in a green plain 
Stoop through the spray of some sweet life-fountain 

And cull the dew-drenched flowering amulet? 

Ah! whenr'tfie wan soul in that golden air 
Between the scriptured petals softly blown 
Peers breathless for the gift of grace unknown, — 
Ah! let none other alien spell soe'er 
But only the one Hope's one name be there, — 
Not less nor more, but even that word alone. 



Poetical Wot^s of Page 

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI Tn,o Hundred and Three 



Cfie l£)pu0e of Life 

'VII.-t-NUPTIAL SLEEP.;. 

At length their long kiss severed, with s^et smart: 

And as the last, slow, sudden drops are ished 
From sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled, 

Sq singly flagged the pulses of each heart. 
Their bosoms sundered, with the opening start 

Of married flowers to either side outspread 
From the knit stem; yet still their mouths, burnt red, 

E^awned on each oj^jprr where they lay apart. 

Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams. 

And their dreams watched them sink, and slid away. 

Slowly their souls swam up again, through gleams 
Of watered light and dull drowned waifs of day ; 

Till from some wonder of new woods and streams 
He woke, and wondered more : for there she lay. 

.♦.The sonnet entitled Nuptial Sleep, is omitted from most editions, has been 
replaced in its proper position in the House of Life. This sonnet was chosen 
for admiration by Tennyson, being deeply impressed by the passion and 
imaginative power of the sonnet. 



The Immoriul \Edition of the l^mXu^ 
MJorkfi oj QIitlertbgF, '^rxt anjd j%\xmtX% 

consisting of Thr^ TkmisaHcl volumes^ 
compiled and edited by Gurtrude 
Flower^ is published in New York^ N, K,, 
V« the year /Nine teen-Hiindred-and- Ten 




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One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



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;0A4 457 92A5 



